


The Shadow On The Reef

by SanctusCecidit



Series: Our Name is Legion [4]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Gen, Intrigue, Science Fiction, Suspense, Tags are spoilers so that's all you're getting, Tentaspy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 105,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanctusCecidit/pseuds/SanctusCecidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacques knew he was a loser, a failure, and a terrible Spy. Desperate to get an edge, he accepted an offer that he should have refused. Erwin was a brilliant Medic, but now he's in big trouble. There's a murderer and a traitor on the loose, and all the evidence points at Erwin- but where's Jacques' body? And how can Sniper prove Erwin's innocence when everyone wants Medic dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Where Do We Start?

**Author's Note:**

> Woah, holy crap, I've finally finished it! It's odd how short a story seems when you plot it in your head, and yet, when you get writing it, it somehow turns into a full length novel. This is the fourth story in my 'Our Name Is Legion' sequence, but it is a prequel to 'Saving Private Soldierbot'. Even so, I'd recommend you read them in the order they have been published.
> 
> I dedicate this story to Ikcsi, or possibly blame her for it, since it's been a massive time sink! She once asked me what would make a Spy agree to be a Medic's test subject. That made this plot pop into my head. I sometimes worry about the way my brain works.
> 
> As always, I've completely written the story already. I like to publish after I've finished writing. The final story is 101k words long and thirty-six chapters. I'll be updating on Saturday and Wednesdays. I can't illustrate this one in sfm, alas, because I don't have the models I need. I'll do some artwork for it though. You can find it under 'sanctuscecidit' at deviantart.
> 
> This story is slightly different to the others in this sequence, because I've gone up a notch in terms of scientific realism. The various technobabble in this story is all based on solid scientific evidence. And if that doesn't scare you, nothing will...

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Prologue: Where do we start?**

_"When we are no longer able to change a situation - we are challenged to change ourselves." - Victor E. Frankl_

**_Peru, July 1972_ **

The stark room looked like it should be cold, but it was actually sticky and hot. Sweat dripped off the two people present, but had no chance to evaporate in that joyless, airless space.

The room had no windows, and bleak brick walls. No carpet, either. It was not empty, though- it had a central chair. This chair had no padding. This chair was bolted to the floor, and it had leather straps. This was not a comfortable chair for a nice afternoon's nap. Many people had been driven to despair and insanity in that chair.

Its current unfortunate occupant squirmed and writhed, trying to choke back a scream of agony as the figure stalked around him, pliers at the ready.

"Zhe _matris unguis_ at zhe base of the nail is rich vizh endings, so..." there was a pause, a gasp and a smothered grunt. "Removing fingernails is... _excruciating_. As you can see. Zhis is actually razher exciting! I vonder how vell chemical burns vould vork?"

"Enough," another voice grunted. There was a slight moan and a sigh.

"Zhe art of torture lies in producing zhe maximum pain vizh zhe minimum damage," the voice recited, as if reading from a book. There was a pause and a stifled scream. "Ja, ja..." The voice was breathless and went rather more high-pitched. "Zhere goes anozher fingernail. At least zhey grow back, eh?"

"So cheerful," the other man spat back.

"Vell, zhis is new for me. I'm not trained in interrogation or torture, you see. A new experience, ja?" There was a meaty thump, a gurgle and a bubbling cough. "Now...zhat was less refined. So, are you going to tell me how you found out about us?"

"Will you just _shut up!_ " The man snapped back.

Medic Erwin spat out a blood clot indignantly. "Vhat? I thought you vanted me to talk. So I'm talking!"

Davi threw his tools down in exasperation and ran a bloody hand through his short-cropped dark hair. He had been given a list of questions to ask this prisoner, but so far, he had got no answers even though the man _never stopped talking_! He couldn't even tell if it was a deliberate anti-interrogation tactic or just plain insanity.

Davi was a torturer, but, he felt, he wasn't a bad man. Not really. He loved his wife of ten years and his two kids (another one on the way). It wasn't that he particularly enjoyed inflicting pain- he wasn't a sadist. Sadists made bad torturers- they got too...enthusiastic. It was a delicate art and he had always had an eye for detail. It had been tough at first, but he had got used to it, and it kept his family fed and sheltered. He even took a sort of bitter pride in his job. This 'client', though, was... _disturbing_. He found himself considering other careers, but asking for a new job would probably mean his death. That was how things worked on the coca plantations.

"You enjoy this!" He said, glaring at the German doctor in the chair.

"Of course I don't!" The man huffed and winced as blood dribbled from his split lip. Davi knew for a fact he had two broken ribs as well as the utterly mangled arm. "It is absolutely agonising. I am just interested to see vhat techniques you use to cause pain. What is wrong vizh zhat?"

"Everything!" He threw his pliers down in frustration. He ground his teeth together, feeling the start of a headache. English was not his native language and it was making this session twice as difficult as it would otherwise be. "Maybe I stop, hmm? You like that?"

"Ja, a rest vould be nice," Erwin replied unconcernedly. "I've not had much sleep recently. Or maybe I could have some water?"

"You have water when you talk," Davi told him. The man squirmed and sighed. He certainly didn't look like he was enjoying it- he was pale and panting for breath with dark circles around his eyes- but it was as if he simply didn't care about physical discomfort. "Tell me how your Institute found us."

"Hmm...no. I don't zhink I can tell you zhat," the man craned over to look at the torturer. "You could try pulling my teeth out. Zhat's a common technique. Ooh! You have some clips over zhere. How about applying electrodes to zhe g..."

"No. This not working. So, here what I do: You help us, you get sleep. Water. Or, you not help, and you die. You tell us when ready to talk, yes?" Yes, this should work- these Europeans couldn't take the humid heat of the lower Andes. He'd be softened up when he got dehydrated. Davi could wait. He swallowed. He just hoped Carmine would be willing to wait, too.

"Zhat isn't going to happen," the man said with a derisive snort. He coughed softly. "And if I die, you vill be in a lot of trouble. A _lot_ of trouble."

 _I will be in even more if this doesn't go right._ Davi thought, but he knew he had no choice.

This whole situation was a horrible mess. Carmine had been thrilled with their three prisoners, and had left very strict instructions: Leave the Frenchman alone, give the Australian the _special_ treatment, and the German doctor?

_Make him suffer. If you get answers, good. But if you don't, make him scream. Make him die in agony and despair._

Davi knew better than to question Carmine's orders, but he found himself wishing they had never found these three men. He could sense his own death creeping up on him, getting closer each day these mercenaries remained their prisoners...

* * *

**_The Pauling Institute for the Betterment of Mankind, August 1972_ **

Sniper Lawrence was not really a Sniper any more. True was still a perfect shot, but he rarely lifted a rifle or stared down a scope these days. The tools of his trade were now a mask, a snorkel and his trusty aqualung.

He stepped out of the Institute into the fresh morning air of the Bahamas. This was place so beautiful. Absolutely sodding gorgeous. Every day was a delight. He loaded a nice full tank of air into his rigid inflatable, and set off across the sparkling sea. The sea was calm today, but even so the boat bounced and skipped across the waves, spray flying in great white sheets as it sped along.

He wondered how he had been so lucky as to get the best bloody job in the Institute. Hell- in the _world!_ Most of the Snipers were now involved in nature conservation in some way, and Lawrence had bagsied the coral reefs surrounding their home. A fiercely fought game of rock-paper-scissors may or may not have been involved.

He glanced at the map and decided he'd come to the spot he wanted to survey today, so he dropped the anchor. He sighed in resignation. Yes, the place was lovely, but counting coral species and fish got a bit tedious at times. The corals were easy enough, but fish just wouldn't stay bloody _still!_

He quickly donned his heavy scuba gear, running through the usual checks. Strictly speaking, he wasn't truly in any danger, what with respawn and all, but even so he saw no need to drown due to pure laziness. It'd put him behind schedule. Really, he should have had a dive buddy with him for safety but he had always preferred working alone, and again, in case of disaster, there was respawn.

He backflipped into the sea and was quickly swallowed by the water. Bubbles roared constantly as he breathed, and he felt suddenly free. Scuba gear was hellishly heavy and made him feel like a beached whale until he got into the environment it was made for. He started to make his way to the sea floor, adjusting his buoyancy as he went. Every time he breathed in and out, he rose and fell slightly in the water column.

This, truly, was what made Sniper feel alive. To be in an alien environment, and surviving. To know that he was there, alone, somewhere that so few people ever got to see. It was impossible for Lawrence to smile with a demand valve in his mouth, but he wanted to. Yes, there were biting fish, razor-sharp corals and many poisonous species, but the danger just made the beauty of the coral reef all the brighter and sharper.

A school of fish darted past, shocked by this intruder, and Lawrence turned to watch them for a moment- before crashing into the sea bed.

_Bugger!_

He was always doing that! It was so easy to forget about buoyancy as he swam down and the air in his ABLJ compressed. Ah well, at least it was sandy here. He let a little air into his jacket and kicked off the bottom in a plume of fine white sand.

He reached into a pouch and got out his writing tablet and the high-tech device he found was the best for writing underwater- a pencil.

_Right. So, I need to do a ten metre transect and species count, and then observe fish numbers._

He checked his depth: five metres. Yep, he'd be fine at this depth for as long as he liked. No chance of the bends this shallow.

_Just another day at the office..._

He started making notes and cataloguing, taking photos or drawing small pictures of anything he couldn't identify immediately. The fish numbers were down. That had happened over the last week- it seemed a new apex predator had moved into the reef. Perhaps an injured reef shark? They'd stay in an area until they recovered, hoovering all the fish up like a hungry vacuum cleaner. Of course, if they died, their rotting body would then become food for the very fish they had hunted. It was one of the more disgusting miracles of nature.

_Now what is that? Oh...sea slug._

It was a while since one of the apex predators has drifted by. Two weeks ago, a manta ray had glided past, graceful and dangerous. Once, he had seen the spotted tail of a whale shark vanishing off into the distance. Now he wanted to find whatever it was that was lurking around here. It was amazing how well a large predatory fish could hide.

He was thinking that a bit of excitement would be just the thing right now when all the fish dashed away and he found himself suddenly alone. He looked around curiously, but saw nothing. He swam forward, his fins propelling him faster than a human could normally swim and searched, but nothing...almost nothing.

Almost?

He looked to his left, and there, on the edge of visibility in the clear sea, was a black shadow, slowly spreading and dissipating.

_What the bloody hell was that?!_

Lawrence swam towards it, but by the time he had reached the black cloud, it had gone completely. There were a few clicks as curious or hungry fish crept back out from their hiding places. He made a quick note on his tablet, but got back to counting fish and identifying corals, putting the weird black cloud to the back of his mind.

For now.

It was a shame that Lawrence spent so much time in the water and not much in the Institute. People didn't interest him much. If he had been above sea-level more often, he might have realised the importance of his discovery of the shadow on the reef. As it was, though, he went back to swearing at fish.

_Sodding hell, will you just stay bloody still for a second?!_

He shook his head and swam off, trailing sparkling bubbles behind him.

* * *

_Where do you start a story?_

How is it possible to ever pinpoint the single second in time where plot starts to weave and twist? Sometimes, the most significant events are not where the story should start, because they won't make sense until later on.

Perhaps this story could start with a person who was wronged by someone who was too driven or distracted to even care that they had committed a terrible crime. Perhaps the resentment and suffering of the wronged party would fester and end up being a hatred as hard as diamond, as implacable as space. Perhaps they would plot and scheme and get their revenge many years later.

Then again, perhaps that is not the best place to start.

This story does not start in a grimy torture chamber in Peru.

This story does not start in the sparkling seas of the Bahamas.

Maybe we could start, as so many stories do, with an explosion?

Yes, let's start there.

**In Chapter One: Explosions!**


	2. The Light Fantastic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, what a HUGE response! I had no idea so many people were waiting for this story to come out. Thanks all for your continued support, and I hope it lives up to the hype (does anything ever live up to its hype?).
> 
> In case you're wondering, yes, the area of Scotland that Demo comes from in canon is called Wester Ross. I'd love to know if Valve were aware of that when they made his home town Ullapool.
> 
> Finally, a 'Ceilidh' is a kind of Gaelic party. It generally involves square dancing, music and lots and lots of alcohol. The word is pronounced 'Kaley', because Gaelic likes consonants.
> 
> I've done some art for this chapter, and it can be found at <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/The-Light-Fantastic-628749972>.

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter One: The Light Fantastic**

_"Everybody's worried about stopping terrorism. Well, there's a really easy way: stop participating in it." - Noam Chomski_

**The Pauling Institute for the Betterment of Mankind, Early July 1972**

The sun had long since risen by the time Demo Iain padded out of the door of the Institute in his dressing gown, rubbing his scruffy beard and clutching a glass of water. He yawned and looked over at the bright blue sky, patched with the occasional white whisp of clouds.

Another beautiful day. Damn, this was a gorgeous place. Growing up in the most beautiful bloody place on the entire damn planet had left Demo with an eye for lovely landscapes. He remembered watching the delicate little arctic terns skim over the grey seas of Wester Ross, and visiting Camas a'Charraig beach as a child to paddle along the shore or blow up jellyfish.

The Bahamas was close to being a match for the Scottish highlands. Not _quite_ as good, but he would admit the weather was better. On days like this, he didn't even feel the need for his usual morning pick-me-up.

"Not dressed yet, maggot?" A voice barked behind him. "You're a disgrace to the uniform!"

"Mornin' Sol. I'm no' wearin' a uniform so I cannae disgrace it, right?" He replied with a grin, turning to face his slightly crazy friend. "Anyway, it's Saturday, so I can do what I want. How 'bout you? Got any plans fer the weekend?"

"That information is on a need to know basis only," Soldier looked dramatically left and right before leaning in with a wicked grin. Demo backed away slightly from the man's morning breath. "My intelligence network tells me that there is a football match between the Florida Gaters and Miami United. You need to come along for reconnaisance."

"That's nae football, just a bunch o' pansies with big shoulders running aboot," Demo objected, but when he saw Soldier's expression change he held up a hand hurriedly. "Wouldnae miss it for anythin', laddie. I'll bring the beer, 'cos the stuff you choose is always piss."

"It's _American_ piss. The best piss," Soldier declared. "We will meet for final preparations at the main teleporter at sixteen-hundred hours. You can wear your dress."

"I told ya, Sol, it's not a dress it's a..."

"ROBOTS!" Soldier suddenly cried, pointing at the sky. He pulled a shotgun out of his pants."Prepare to repel intruders."

"Robots?! Where?" Demo dropped his glass of water with a smash. He looked around urgently.

There was a roar of jets, followed by two clangs of metal feet hitting concrete. "It's just me, dumbasses." Scoutbot said, padding towards the two men. "I got the mail."

"How do I _know_ it's you?" Soldier demanded.

"Sol, how did ye fit that gun doon yer..."

"How many flying purple robots do you know?" Scoutbot asked tiredly, handing over a few packages. He weighed one in his jointed hands, tossing it from hand to hand."Hey, this one is kinda heavy."

"That looks..." Demo eyed the thickly padded envelope thoughtfully and squinted to make out the address. It was just labelled 'For whom it may concern.' There was a greasy mark on one corner. It was early in the morning, but he knew he recognised...

"I will open it," Soldier declared. He snatched it off the protesting robot and tore one corner.

"NO!" Demo suddenly grabbed the package and hurled it away from the two men and one robot. He seized Soldier's shoulders and pulled the man down. Soldier made a slightly girly squeak of surprise before the world went white.

There was a roar of noise so loud it made his ears shut down and a wave of heat so intense it was numbing. Then, sensations returned and the world filled with pain and confusion that seemingly went on forever, followed by a horrible silence.

Iain blinked his eye open and looked at the blackened scenery around him. Soldier moved underneath him, but made no sound. He staggered upright and clutched his head.

"M'too sober fer this shite..." he said before stopping in surprise. He hadn't heard a word he had just said. Soldier looked at him and his mouth moved, but there was no sound. He saw the man inhale and bellow, but still the world stayed tranquil and quiet. Scoutbot peeled himself off a nearby concrete wall and gestured widely, but Demo had no idea what he was saying. The metal man gave a shrug of disgust and half-limped, half-staggered through the shattered glass doors into the Institute.

 _Guess the little metal bastard is good fer summat, at least._ Demo thought muzzily. His hands felt sticky. Blood. His or Sol's? Or both? The world was sliding and going grey and it was so hard to think. _Wee nap. Time for a wee nap..._

Everything went blank for a while.

The next thing he remembered was a sensation of heat and movement. There was coarse cloth against the scorched skin of his face, rubbing it raw. He blinked and looked around, realising he was upside down and held firmly against a broad, muscular back.

Soldier was similarly held upside down, his head lolling within inches of his own face. His eyelids were slightly open and the whites of his eyes showed.

"Sol?" Demo asked, but realised he couldn't hear his own voice. Soldier didn't reply, anyway. There was a vibration against his cheek and he struggled in realisation. "Medic! I cannae hear! I lost my hearing! I cannae hear! MEDIC!" The huge arm clamped around him firmly and there were more vibrations as the Heavy said something he couldn't hear.

One of Soldier's eyes opened fully and he looked around in confusion before closing it again. The light faded, and Demo saw the shattered front doors of the Institute close behind them. The building was dim, lit only by little emergency lights that had an eery, green tinge.

There was another blankness, and then he was in the infirmary. Heavy threw him roughly onto a gurney before depositing Soldier off his other shoulder onto the one next to it. He tried to struggle off it, but was held down with one large hand. Medic came over with his portable medigun. From the slightly scruffy look of him, it had to be Albrecht, so the Heavy must be Vlad. Those two seemed joined at the hip.

"Use the big gun, Medic. Not that little one. The big one," he pointed to the large medigun hung over the bed, but Albrecht shook his head and pointed the healing gun at him. "The big one!" The rays of the gun hit him and cooled his burnt skin, making him writhe in pain and relief.

"...enough power left. I might have to get zhe Quickfix."

"Ahh thank God. I thought m'hearing was gone fer good," Albrecht gave him a surprised look.

"Of course not! However, I am a little limited in vhat I can do because we've lost power. I can fix zhe vorst of zhe burns, at least. Vhy you feel zhe need to _constantly_ blow zhings up, I'll never know..."

"It wasnae me!" Demo protested, before shrugging and looking a little sheepish. "Not this time, anyway. It was..."

"ROBOTS!" Soldier suddenly lurched upright, grabbing for a helmet that was no longer there and flailing about. Vlad rolled his eyes in annoyance, grabbed him and held him still while he looked towards the door as a new noise became louder. A horrific noise. A noise that meant trouble. A noise that all the men of the Institute dreaded.

It was the tap-tap of short heeled shoes on linoleum. Four sets of eyes swung to the door as it opened.

"So," Miss Pauling said, clicking a pen against her clipboard as she stalked in. Albrecht smirked and looked at the two injured men smugly. "The main bridge has a large hole in it. Power is down, and the phone lines are out. Soldier and Demo both _happen_ to love explosions, and both _happened_ to be right by the bridge at the time. Would you care to explain?"

"Before you continue, Miss Pauling, may I point out ve have no power for zhe medigun? So, please only one kneecap each, bitte," Albrecht said. Vlad snorted in mirth and folded his arms.

"It was the robot!" Soldier stated. "That traitorous bastard of a..."

"Haud yer wheesht!" Iain snapped. He rubbed his forehead with a wince. One eyebrow flaked off into ashes. "It wasnae the wee robot. It's worse than that, a lot worse. I think we've got a big problem on our hands here."

"How do you mean?" Miss Pauling asked, sitting down with a serious frown.

"Scoutbot gave us the post, an' I knew it, soon as I saw it. A letter bomb. I know bombs, ye ken? It's my job, knowing bombs."

"Da, we know this," Vlad said. "You think we were sent this bomb?"

"Aye," Demo sighed in resignation. "I shoulda spotted it sooner. I shoulda thrown it further. I shoulda _stopped_ it, but I failed. I failed ye all."

"None of that, do you hear?" Soldier snapped. He scratched his scorched face and there was a trickle of blood under his nails. "It's bad for morale. I won't have my officers putting themselves down! That's what _I'm_ here for!"

"Uh, Sol, I don't think ye mean..."

"You mean zhat if zhat letter had got inside zhe building..." Albrecht said slowly, moving the medigun to point at Soldier.

"It would have killed us all, I bet," Miss Pauling continued solemnly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Aye," Iain replied soberly. "We'd have been blown sky-high. Us, respawn, the whole ceilidh'd be over."

"So," Miss Pauling said, putting her clipboard down slowly, "Someone tried to kill us all. We don't know who, and we don't know why."

"For once in my life, it vould be nice _not_ to have someone vanting me dead," Medic said with a resigned sigh.

"If man wants me dead. I crush them," Vlad stated, folding his huge arms.

"Got tae find out who first," Demo pointed out. His hand groped around unthinkingly for a bottle that wasn't there.

"I intend to," Miss Pauling replied grimly. "And when I do- the people who did this will _suffer_."

**In Chapter Two: Introducing the Institute's most secretive department: the World Peace Division.**


	3. Ninety-Five Percent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The responses continue to pour in! If I didn't reply to anybody who reviewed or commented, my apologies. I may have missed you out in the rush. However, I really appreciate all your responses, so please keep them coming in, positive or negative!
> 
> Many thanks to Terminal Nostalgia for pointing out a punctuation rule I was somehow completely unaware of. How I've missed this in years of reading and writing I shall never know. Anyway, from here on, I shall use the comma correctly in dialogue (I hope). I still say that rule seems weird...anyway, I owe you an SFM portrait, Term.
> 
> I think it's time to introduce our protagonist, Jacques. And the first word out of his mouth is...

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Two: Ninety-five Percent**

_"_ _You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life."_

_\- Winston Churchill_

The phone rang out shrilly and Spy Jacques thrashed awake, sheets entangling around his legs.

"Merde!"

He grabbed the handset and mashed it to his ear.

"Jacques? Anna here. We've got a meeting, conference room 2a. Get over here as quickly as you can."

"Bien sur, Madame," he replied, rubbing his eyes and trying to stifle a yawn.

He'd overslept _again_. Why did he need so much sleep? The other Spies were always awake on time, immaculately dressed and so pristine it hurt. Jacques rummaged in his laundry basket to find a pair of half-decent socks. Hopping on one foot, he looked in his wardrobe for a suit and sighed in relief when he realised he _did_ have a nice clean and pressed suit ready for wear, for once. That was something, at least- he had an image to uphold, after all. It just seemed to take so much more _effort_ for him than for his identical Spy siblings. He quickly splashed some cologne on his face before putting on his balaclava. That, at least, disguised the unshaven face underneath. His face quirked into a wry smile. _The perfect crime._ He had a quick look in the mirror...

_Ugh._

...and strolled out of his room, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep breath of the soothing smoke. He sighed in relief and took the lift down the conference room where the World Peace Department would be waiting for him. Not that he was late. Well, he wasn't _unfashionably_ late, at any rate.

On his way down, he kept an ear open for the gossip and found out, much to his dismay, that he had apparently slept through an _explosion_ , of all things. Well, his bedroom was on one of the highest floors. That was why. Definitely why. Still, nobody needed to know he'd been in the land of Nod, did they?

The emergency lights flickered as the Institute's backup power got lower, and Jacques looked up, his forehead creasing in concern. It was reasonable to assume, what with the sudden emergency meeting, that the explosion wasn't just one of the mercenaries being their usual idiotic selves, but something more serious. The thought was not a pleasant one, and Jacques could feel the tension in the air. If the WPD had been called together this was not a matter that could be brushed off lightly.

Within the Institute, the World Peace Department didn't officially exist.

But that was fine, since the people who worked in it also didn't officially exist. In fact, there were only three people in the entire Institute who would be recognised by the outside world as real people. Everyone else was a clone, an un-person with no real identity. Without bits of paper to track them, it was so easy for them to disappear- and that suited the World Peace Department just fine.

It was well known that power corrupted, and absolute power corrupted absolutely, and that's why the WPD didn't exist (officially). When a world leader started taking political prisoners, or starved their people for the sake of their own political beliefs, or when they ruled by death and fear and none dared stand against them, when their insanity poisoned the lives of millions, the World Peace Department would act, and the power-mad dictator would have an unfortunate 'accident'. It wasn't an ideal solution since it often left a power vacuum and chaos behind, but at least it lanced the boil and gave the world a chance to heal.

Just as the Administrator had been before them, they were the fulcrum of the scales, the final check and balance. They even, in a quiet, unspoken way, kept an eye on Katie Pauling- as the one of the most powerful women in the world, she was just as much a risk as any other world leader. Whether Katie knew this or not, they didn't know- and they didn't _want_ to know, either.

There were seven of them in total in the Department: Anna Pauling, Engineer Tyler, Medic Erwin, Sniper Tim, Demo Malcolm, Spy Marcus and, finally, Jacques himself. Although they worked by consensus and no one was officially in charge, in practice, Anna and Tyler were _de facto_ joint heads because Anna was the kind of person who always thought she was in charge (and, Jacques wryly thought, it never occurred to any of the mercs to question this), and Tyler just seemed to fall naturally into the role of organiser and morale officer whenever he was in any group of people.

"Late again, Jackie?" Sniper Tim stepped out of a side corridor and gave his friend a brief nod.

"Filthy bushman," Jacques replied with a quick, smile. "I think we can guess what this meeting is about."

"Looks a right shonky business, doesn't it?"

"So it does. I think we might soon be leaving this comfortable island for a little holiday, don't you?"

"Seems likely, Show Pony. Hope we go somewhere nice."

"We normally don't," Jacques said with a resigned sigh. "If given the choice, I vote for somewhere too cold."

"Nah, too hot. S'much better. I hate the bloody cold."

"Ah yes, heat exhaustion is _so_ much more pleasant than hypothermia."

Tim shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough." He pushed the polished wooden door open and they entered the conference room. It looked like they were the last to arrive. Anna Pauling sat at the head of the desk, her fingers knitted together in thought. Spy Marcus sat to her left and tapped an unlit cigarette against the table. Demo Malcolm was next to him. He gulped down some strong coffee while frowning in disgust at his mug. Medic Erwin was staring into midair, apparently miles away, while Engineer Tyler doodled on the blotting paper by his seat.

"Gentlemen," Jacques said with a nod, as he and Tim took the last couple of seats.

"And lady," Anna Pauling added sharply.

"Apologies, Madamoiselle," Jacques said with a quick bob of his head. "I take it we are gathered to discuss this explosion?"

"Aye," Malcolm said, draining his cup with a shudder, "Iain says it were a letter bomb, and I'm sure he's right, o'course. Damn powerful one, too. Too bloody powerful."

"How'd ya mean?" Tyler asked, idly drawing a perfect circle on the blotter.

"Well..." Demo Malcolm looked about nervously. "Letter bombs _aren't_ that powerful, ye ken. Normally, they're made to hurt one person. They're a gesture, made to scare someone. Don't get me wrong, they can cause some right bad burns, but this level o' damage...few people can build one like that. I only know of one."

"You," Jacques said softly, feeling his mouth going dry. He knew what that meant, and it made his stomach churn.

Malcolm nodded grimly. The lights suddenly flicked on, and everyone startled.

"Guess Dell got the electrics up," Tyler muttered. He put his pen down carefully and looked up. "Are you sayin' what I think you're sayin'?"

"We have a traitor," Marcus said softly. "Either one of the Demos built it, or he has been feeding information to someone outside."

"Zhat makes no sense!" Erwin pointed out. "Demo is, ah, not an early riser by nature. I zhink zhe only Demo awake during zhe explosion vas Iain. Zhe ozhers...well, zhey'd be as dead as us."

"It had to be someone who knows Demo's formulas and gets to move outside the base often," Anna said quietly. "In other words, one of us, right at this table."

"Hey! I just told ye about this! You think I'd do that if I were the traitor?" Demo snapped in reply as they all stared at him speculatively.

"It's a good way to avoid suspicion after a botched bombing attempt," Miss Pauling pointed out quietly.

"But I'd have blown meself up too! You think I'd be that barmy?" Malcolm paused, blinked, and rubbed his eyepatch. "Alright, alright, so I've made mistakes in the past, and I'm no' a good man. But ye think I'd kill myself on purpose? Just to get rid of the Institute?"

"It's happened in the past," Sniper Tim pointed out. Demo glared at him venomously, but he just shrugged. "Look mate, I'm just sayin'. It has. People do crazy stuff all the time."

"So, ye think I did it, hmm?" Malcolm said, rising to his feet and glaring back. "Is that what ye're saying? Do ye trust me so little?" His hands started to bunch into fists.

"Okay, okay, let's stop this right now," Tyler said firmly, slapping his hand down on the desk with a metal clang. "We ain't gonna get nowhere without a little bit o'trust. So, let's start with a null hypothesis: No one in this room is a traitor. Got it?"

"What's a 'Null hypothesis'?" Tim asked curiously.

"Ah, zhat is used in statistical analysis," Erwin said, knitting his hands together and leaning forward eagerly. "It's a statement of zhe most likely outcome of a test, assuming zhat zhe theory being tested is untrue. In most situations, a null hypothesis is considered to have been disproven if zhe chances of zhe observed data set varying from average is less zhan one in twenty."

"Actually, that's only in the soft sciences," Tyler continued. "In physics, the confidence interval is a whole lot smaller. It depends on the accuracy of the equipment used, y'see."

"Is zhat so?" Erwin turned towards the smaller Engineer with eager curiosity written over his long face. "So, vhat value of alpha do you use in your tests?"

"Depends on what I'm testin'. For instance, looking at the calibration of..."

"Guys," Miss Pauling interrupted tiredly, "Explosion. Bombs."

"Oh." Tyler blinked a few times. "Sorry Ma'am. What I mean is that we have to trust at least some folks, and I'm pretty damn sure..."

"95% sure." Erwin nodded in agreement.

"Right, Medic...95% sure no one in this room is a traitor. You fellas have to be the most trustworthy an' reliable group in the Institute."

"Oh, please stop, the feelings of love and trust are suffocating me," Marcus said sourly, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep breath. "However, Engineer is right. Even _if_ the traitor is one of us, which I hope is not the case, we will get nowhere without at least some level of trust. What I would like to know is how we investigate this."

"Well, I need to get hold o' some of the debris from the explosion site," Tyler said. "Then I'll see what I can do for y'all. Could use your help there, Malcolm."

"Aye laddie, only too glad."

"I will see what my contacts know," Jacques said, his mind already spinning with ideas.

"What can I do?" Sniper asked.

"Keep your rifle maintained," Marcus replied grimly. "I think you are going to need it."

"Right," Anna Pauling stood up and smoothed down her skirt. "I'll report to Katie. Speak to no one outside of this room, understood?"

"But..." Medic objected, holding up a finger.

Anna rolled her eyes. "I _mean_ , don't speak about this to anyone outside of the WPD. It doesn't have to be in _this_ room, as long as no one else knows, ok? Trust no one. Except us. We're 95% trustworthy, apparently."

* * *

A slow, arduous week passed. The Institute got its power and telephone lines back in working order, but the atmosphere had changed. Everyone could feel it. They had been attacked, and this time, there were no robots to fight, no obvious targets, no enemy they could see. Without really talking about it, everyone went armed. Then the letter arrived, and in its own way, it was as destructive as the letterbomb:

_"To whom it may concern,_

_The bomb was just the beginning._

_C."_

Three lines. That was all.

Scout Matt accidentally shot Spy Gabriel in the face when the latter tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he wanted a coffee. The Soldiers prowled endlessly around the base, guarding the entrance and shoving their rocket launcher into the face of anyone who came near. Another letter came.

_"To whom it may concern,_

_We know who you are._

_C."_

Nervous and twitchy mercenaries had accidents. Respawn and the Medics were kept busy. Jacques and Marcus chain-smoked while they scanned documents and bribed contacts. Engineer Tyler built some hideous contraption of tubes and spend hours every day pouring over the graphs it produced. More letters arrived.

_"To whom it may concern,_

_You will pay for your crimes._

_C."_

A suspicious package arrived. It was carefully opened away from the Institute, but turned out to contain a beehive, of all things. Engineer Tyler gave a baffled shrug and decided to keep them- fresh honey was nice, after all...

_"To whom it may concern,_

_We know your weaknesses._

_C."_

...then Medic Wilhelm got stung and collapsed with anaphylactic shock. He respawned three times in a row before Albrecht managed to stabilise him. The medigun could not help much when the enemy was a person's own biochemistry.

Tyler moved his bees to a distant island and planted some lavender.

_"To whom it may concern,_

_We know your secrets._

_C."_

This letter had a crudely drawn picture of a sentry attached. Jacques clenched his jaw together so tightly it hurt, and downed more headache pills. Along with the letter bomb, there was now no avoiding the unpleasant conclusion: Someone was feeding this 'C' information. They knew too much. Someone in the Institute had turned traitor.

_"To whom it may concern,_

_We will break you._

_C."_

At the end of the week, Anna Pauling called the WPD together again. The grey-skinned, unshaven group gathered once again in the conference room. Marcus rubbed his cheek irritably- he had a round cigarette burn there where he had fallen asleep at his desk the night before. Jacques gave him a sympathetic look. He didn't feel much better himself. He himself was tired enough that the room seemed to be slowly sliding sideways and his eyes kept unfocusing.

"Morning everyone." Anna gave them all a thin smile and pointedly put a jug of strong coffee on the table. "So, guys, tell me what you've found out."

**In Chapter Three: The World Peace Department shares what they've learnt, and decides it's time to go on a mission...**


	4. Guten Abend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Now it's time for the plot to really get going after faffing about for a prologue and two chapters! I'm sure you'll be thrilled with the final paragraph of this chapter.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone for their support and messages about my fanfic- I'm glad you're enjoying it.
> 
> The song Erwin sings here is a classic German lullaby. If you look up the lyrics in youtube, you will be able to find it, and you will recognise the tune, I'm sure.

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Three: Guten Abend**

_"Tis not seasonable to call a man traitor, that has an army at his heels."_

_\- John Seldon_

Jacques took a deep gulp of the vile coffee, and waited to see what the various people would say. He scratched his stubbled chin idly through his mask.

"Well, I got somethin'," Engineer Tyler said proudly. "I took some of the debris from the explosion site, and also some samples of the paper those threats were written on, and did some analysis."

"Ohh did you use zhe new HPLC?" Erwin asked, leaning forward eagerly. "I've been vaiting for an excuse to use zhat myself."

"Sure did, Medic." He looked at his baffled audience and cleared his throat. "High pressure liquid chromatography, if you want the full name. Link it to a mass spectrometer, and you can sort out an' identify every compound in a sample. It sure is a powerful technique, but takes some skill to interpret."

"And what did you find?" Spy Marcus asked, leaning back in his chair with a small smile that looked obnoxiously smug to Jacques, even more so since he'd worn that expression often enough himself.

"Something _real_ interesting. The rubble, well, was rubble. Not much to say about that. But this here paper is laced with methyl (1 _R_ ,2 _R_ ,3 _S_ ,5 _S_ )-3- (benzoyloxy)-8-methyl-8-azabicyclo[3.2.1] octane-2-carboxylate, otherwise known as benzoylmethylecgonine and its precursors."

"Ohhh!" Erwin's eyes went round. "Zhat _is_ interesting."

"Look, you two," Anna said tiredly, "We don't speak nerd. I've told you before about this."

"Cocaine," Tyler said with a slightly disapproving frown in Miss Pauling's direction. "Whoever sent this ain't just no user either- they're _makin_ ' it."

"A drug baron. We've pissed off a drug baron. Aye, that's just smashing!" Demo Malcolm said sourly. "So, these letters have gotta be comin' from South America?"

"I tracked the sender of the letters and narrowed down the location of this 'C' to Peru. North eastern Peru," Jacques added, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. "This correlates nicely, oui?"

"Lots of cocaine grown there," Sniper commented, before shrugging. "S'a good place to get assassination jobs. Been there a few times in the past."

"Well done, guys. That gets us a lot closer," Anna said, writing a note on her clipboard. "Now we just need to narrow down the search..."

Marcus cleared his throat pointedly. "The letters come from Plantación Fuego Sin Alas, in north-eastern Peru. It is, indeed, a coca plantation in the Andes," Marcus gave a quick nod at Tyler and Jacques, "And the owner goes under the name 'Carmine'."

There was a shocked silence at the table.

"You know how long I spent looking through all that damned data?" Tyler asked querulously. "Next time, _tell me_ if you get there first, alright? Or I'll damn well hold you down and make _you_ read spectrographs for twelve hours straight."

Jacques swallowed down a mouthful of coffee quickly, using it to hide his own personal dismay. _I should have been able to figure that out._ He realised that his once-encyclopedic knowledge of the drugs trade had faded. Perhaps that was not surprising, given the passage of time since he had been, heh, _personally involved_. Not that he ever really had, of course, but he was a clone of the person who had: Théo, the Violet Spy. The problem was that he and Marcus were identical in every way- but Marcus remembered, and he had not. And that was surely impossible, wasn't it?

Pure chance. It had to be. Marcus had been lucky. That was all it was.

"So, why is a cocaine producer in Peru so bloody angry with us?" Tim wondered. "Did we shut down his operations or summat?"

"This seems more than an attempt to stop a rival. This is anger, pure hatred," Jacques replied, eager to add something to the discussion. "The letters were designed to incite fear. Drug barons prefer their enemies to die. They care little about their suffering unless they wish to ensure obedience in their minions."

"I agree," Marcus said, reaching for his cigarette case. He got out a Gitane, and waved it idly. "The question remains: how do they know so much about us?"

"That's summat I'm no' sure I want tae know the answer to," Malcolm said solemnly.

"I've been looking into that," Miss Pauling said, putting her clipboard down on the table. "I'm assuming that whoever bombed us last week wouldn't want to, you know, die. So, the suspects would be someone who wasn't on site at that time. That gives us seven people: Heavy Sergei, Medic Gerhardt, Spy Théo, Scout Bobby, Scout Rick, Sniper Lawrence and...Medic Erwin."

Erwin blinked. "I...I vas collecting drugs to fulfill prescriptions! Ve Medics take it in turns. You can check zhe rota."

"The problem is," Anna continued, "That I know Sergei and Gerhardt are in New York doing...well, whatever they are doing up there. Théo hasn't visited us in months, so any information he fed them would be out of date. Bobby and Rick were out biking our despatches to the White House, and anyway they're, um..."

"Too chaotic to be capable of intrigue?" Marcus asked wryly.

"I didn't say that!" Miss Pauling replied hotly. "But...well, yes. Sniper Lawrence was out on the reef as usual. The man is hardly ever above water, so Erwin is..."

"Now hang on a damn minute," Tyler broke in, "I don't like where this is going, not one bit."

"Neizher do I," Erwin agreed angrily. He put his hands flat on the table and rose to his feet, running a hand through his slicked back black hair. Jacques had always felt that it made him look far too severe. "I vill not be a suspect for merely performing my duties."

"Erwin hasn't let us down on any of our operations yet," Tyler added, also standing up. "I trust him, y'hear? Ok, so he's got his own li'l ways..."

"Vhat?"

"And yeah, perhaps he's a bit _too_ fond o' handling our innards..."

"Zhat's my job! It has nozhing to do vith..."

"And ok, he's pretty gosh-darn eccentric if not just plain crazy, but..."

"Tyler my friend, I appreciate your defence, but _please stop talking_ ," Erwin stated firmly.

"Guys, guys, calm down!" Anna got to her feet too and glared up at the two taller men. "Innocent until proven guilty, remember that? Being a suspect is not a crime. And right now, Erwin, we need your help no matter what." She gave a sudden grin laced with deviousness. "There are lots of tropical diseases we're going to need jabs for."

"Ah, mon dieu," Marcus said, covering his face with his palm. "Did you have to tell him that?"

"Hmm, I vill have to check zhe records, but Peru has yellow fever and typhoid, certainly." Erwin's eyes glinted, all worry instantly vanishing from his face. "Zhe typhoid vaccine can be quite unpleasant. Zhere is no vaccine for Dengue fever, so let's hope nobody gets zhat..."

"I take it we will be taking a short trip to Peru, then?" Jacques asked.

Miss Pauling nodded. "Pack your things, and once Medic has stabbed us all, we better be going. Plane this time- there's no teep network there."

"I can set up a teleport once we get there, in case of..." Tyler stopped. "Well, y'know."

"Ok, let's get ready then." She grimaced briefly. "This is going to be horrible, isn't it?"

"Nice place. Amazing wildlife. Good scenery once you get high enough. Hotter than the devil's arsehole an' just as damp," Sniper Tim said. "Altitude sickness too, if we're talking the Yungas. Clouds of mosquitoes, and almost enough poisonous stuff to feel like home."

"Sounds charming," Jacques said drily, getting to his feet.

"You better all go and get ready. Oh, Jacques, can you stay behind a moment?" Anna casually pushed her glasses up her nose and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There's just something I wanted to ask you about."

Jacques stopped in his tracks, but carefully schooled his face into an expression of mild concern. "Of course, Madame."

The group filed out, leaving Anna and Jacques alone. She cleared her voice.

"It's nothing serious," she said. "Well, actually it is, I guess. What I mean is you don't need to look like that, you're not in trouble."

"I always look like this," Jacques replied smoothly, tweaking the creases out of his suit sleeves.

"I've got a special job for you," Anna said quietly. "Keep an eye on Erwin. Stay close to him. Be his shadow."

"Ah, I see." He felt relief flood him and his heart slowed. "A wise precaution, although I suspect all I will hear is him talking gruesome nonsense about anatomy."

Miss Pauling gave a small smile. "Let's hope so."

 

* * *

 

" _Guten Abend, gute Nacht,_  
mit Rosen bedacht,  
mit Näglein besteckt,  
schlupf unter die Deck:..."

 _Truly, this is the sound of a villainous mind at work._ Jacques thought sourly while he lurked outside Erwin's room later that day. Medic was a surprisingly good singer, with a clear tenor voice.

" _...Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,_  
wirst du wieder geweckt,  
morgen früh, wenn Gott will,  
wirst du wieder geweckt.

Gute Nacht, mein hübsche Taube. Papa wird hier immer sein."

 _What kind of person sings lullabies to a bird?_ Jacques itched to light a cigarette, but he really needed to remain unnoticed. Erwin generally kept to himself, but he loved his pet dove, Kepler. If it could still be called a dove, that was- during Erwin's tender care, Kepler had grown a crest and a miniature peacock's tail which he would fan out at any passing lady pigeons that took his fancy. The only explanation Erwin had given for this alteration was 'I zhought he vould like it.' Jacques had carefully not asked _how_ Medic had achieved it.

He had been shadowing Medic Erwin all day, and there were no signs of wrongdoings, other than the usual medical malpractice the good doctor was known for. Erwin seemed to have a particular interest in pale things in bottles that had quite put Jacques off the chicken he had cooked for his dinner. The German had spent some time playing discussing something horribly scientific with Tyler. Scientific _and_ hilarious, apparently, since the two of them had been laughing like idiots.

He frowned and reached in his suit for a cigarette before stopping himself yet again. Hopefully, Erwin would go to bed soon and he could leave a small trip alarm on his door and retire. Jacques found himself pondering the whole situation. Could Erwin be a traitor? It seemed highly unlikely. He was a perfect copy of Gerhardt, after all, and Spy was certain Gerhardt would _never_ betray the Institute. It was, in many ways, his life's work. Just as it was Spy Théo's life work too.

_Unless..._

Jacques swallowed suddenly and fiddled with his cuffs. A suspicion had been growing in his mind recently- he was starting to wonder if the clones really _were_ clones. Were they truly perfect copies, same bodies, same minds, same memories?

Jacques did not feel the same as the other Spies. He...he did not seem as good as them. Yes, he shared the same interests in fast cars, fine wine and beautiful women (also in fine cars, beautiful wine and fast women). They all looked the same. And yet...there was _something_. He couldn't even put his finger on it. Marcus, for instance, was so smooth and self assured. Jacques just pretended to be self-assured. Of course, Marcus could be pretending too...

Jacques shook himself. _Enough wool-gathering!_ Back to Erwin. He did seem a little unusual, even for a Medic. Like Jacques himself, he had been one of the last clones produced, and they both had had little time to socialise or become orientated before being shoved into that final robot war. Although Erwin shared the usual unhinged but enthusiastic approach to science, he was more introverted. Except for his friendship with Engineer Tyler, he was something of a loner, in fact- but was that just coincidence? During the chaotic first few months after Gray Mann had died, the clones had sorted out friendships and alliances, enmities and even romances. Maybe Erwin had somehow just got left out? It was a rather sad thought, really.

The doctor's room had gone silent and Jacques sighed in relief. He quickly set the infra-red alarm that would tell him if Medic left, and then strolled off, lighting a cigarette with relish. He took the lift up to his room. He had that fine Islay malt Demo Malcolm had given him for Christmas; perhaps a glass before bed?

"Ah, there you are, mate," Tim called as he approached his bedroom. "Fancy joinin' me for a beer?"

"Filthy bushman." Jacques gave a warm smile to his friend. "Actually, I was going to enjoy a single malt. You're welcome to join me, of course."

"Single malt..." Sniper's high forehead wrinkled for a second in thought. "That's whiskey, right?"

"In the same way an Aston Martin is a car," Jacques replied.

"Yeah then, I will. Got any ice?"

"Bordel, you do not put _ice_ in a single malt! It melts and dilutes the unique experience."

"Bloody poofter. Only you'd call a damn snort o' booze an 'experience'," Tim said, his lips curling into a sneer.

Jacques rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Are you coming in or not?"

"'Course."

They both padded into Spy's room. It wasn't as well decorated as Jacques would have liked, since there were a number of Spies all competing for the same furniture and paintings, but he did at least have a nice thick carpet and good, solid furniture.

Sniper collapsed into an armchair and put his feet up on the mahogany coffee table. Jacques tried not to wince.

"So...what a bloody mess, eh?"

"Indeed." Jacques handed him a whiskey and a small engraved jug of water. "You may add a small quantity of water if you wish- and if you value my friendship, don't even _think_ about drinking it all in one swallow."

Tim paused before taking a delicate sip. He nodded. "Yeah, 's good. Smooth."

There was a moment's silence as they enjoyed the fine liquor before Tim spoke again.

"You know what I don't get? Those letters. They said 'You will pay for your crimes'. What crimes?"

"You need to ask?" Jacques said, raising one eyebrow sardonically. "How about murder, arson, sedition, public nudity, murder, drug trafficking, grave-robbing, murder, sexual deviance, gun running, insider dealing, murder, selling state secrets, bank robbing, murder, and being unable to grow a moustache?"

"I can't help if it I can't grow a decent moustache!" Sniper replied in a hurt tone of voice. "S'not a crime. Hang on- did you say drug trafficking?"

"Yes..." Jacques drawled thoughtfully, "But I have reasons to believe that that personage no longer has ties to the underworld. And I find it hard to believe one could run a coca plantation in Peru from the Institute without gathering at least a little suspicion."

"This...personage who was involved in drug running." Sniper said quietly. "It's you, isn't it? Or, well, Spy Théo."

Jacques snorted. "Actually, non. I can't even keep a pot plant alive, let alone a plantation. Although I can see why you might think so."

"So, how d'ya know..."

"Spy. Remember?" Jacques pointed at himself, and Tim smiled weakly. The Sniper's smile then turned a little more mischievous.

"So...what about the public nudity and sexual deviance?"

"Oh, the public nudity is Soldier."

"Heh, 'course."

"And the sexual deviance, well... _some_ countries consider it a crime. Not all. Personally, I believe some people are just...made that way, oui?"

"Oh! Huh. Yeah." Sniper gave a wicked grin. He tapped on the wall by him with his knuckles. "Good thing we got thick walls here, eh? Anyway, what I meant about the crime thing was that it seems like this wanker down in Peru has a grudge. Like the Institute did something against him pers'nally."

"It does seem that way." Jacques finished his whiskey and held the cut glass up to the light. "Why, I cannot say."

"Can't believe our own'd betray us, though. After everythin'."

"I don't wish to believe it," Jacques said, but he turned and looked Sniper in the eye. "But, mon ami, one thing you must always remember: some people can lie with the face of an angel. _Never_ trust your own ability to tell truth from fiction, for there will always be those whose lies you cannot detect."

"So, you're sayin', trust no one?" Tim asked sourly.

"Not at all," Jacques replied seriously. "I am saying this: trust evidence, not your gut instinct, for your gut instinct can often be wrong."

"Well, that's just bloody depressing." Tim drained his glass, and reached for the bottle to refill it. "So, spook, do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." Jacques held his glass out and Tim filled it. Their fingers touched briefly. "And you, mon ami, do you trust me?"

The two men's eyes locked.

"To hell and back, mate. To hell and back."

The glasses met with a clink.

Later on, long after the he and the other survivors returned from what would turn out to be an utterly disastrous mission in Peru, Jacques would look back on this moment drinking whiskey with Tim as the last time he ever felt truly human.

**In Chapter Four: The group sets off for Peru, and Erwin springs some really bad news on Jacques and Marcus...**

_Translation:_

_Gute Nacht, mein hübsche Taube. Papa wird hier immer sein - Goodnight, my pretty dove. Papa will be right here._


	5. High Fliers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see I am beginning to get the usual reactions of 'Sanctus, dammit, who is going to die this time? Everyone is going to suffer, aren't they?'. Well...yes. But there will be a happy ending. So that's ok then.
> 
> The talented and charming Demonspain has done some artwork for Saving Private Soldierbot, and it's awesome and worth a look. It's the great hero of the hour and all round Big Man, Heavy Vlad. Demonspain, you have some serious talent there, thank you so much! You can find the image at <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Vlad-the-mini-heavy-630566225>.

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Four: High Fliers  
**

_"The Dove, on silver pinions, winged her peaceful way."_

_\- James Montgomery_

The journey to Peru was thankfully uneventful. It involved a chartered jet which was piloted by Miss Pauling and Engineer Tyler. The owners of the jet had no idea where it was going, and were under strict instructions to tell no one to whom it had been rented. In fact, the owner in question had been toying with the idea of seeing if anyone would buy the information from him when he had found the note in delicate copperplate handwriting: _Dear Mr Hernandez, If you tell anyone, we will come back for you, and you will never see us coming. If you tell no one, we will give you the key of the safe deposit box where you will find your payment in full- this time in real notes, not forged ones._

Hernandez had gulped and decided to be honest, just this once.

The plane was obviously meant for the luxury trade, and had deeply padded seats and even a bar. Demo had, naturally enough, taken up residence behind the bar and was preparing cocktails for everyone, whether they wanted them or not.

"This one," He announced, holding up a bright red glass, "Is called 'Sex On The Beach'. So, if ye have it, you can now say you've had..."

"Been there, done that," Sniper Tim said with a snicker. He gestured at Malcolm, and the Scotsman passed over the brightly coloured drink.

"Oh, please," Marcus said, rolling his eyes tiredly.

"S'true. Take my word for it, it's not worth gettin' sand in your crack for. That stuff chafes."

"You vere lucky not to get an infection," Erwin replied, holding his lurid green drink up to the light. "Vhat did you say zhis vas?"

"Irish mojito. Learnt it in Chicago, fer Saint Paddy's day. Huh, bloody Americans callin' themselves Irish. They're as Irish as I am! They got nae connection to their home country, none! If they're so proud o' being Irish, why'd they bugger off and join the yanks?"

"What are you ranting about now?" Anna Pauling asked as she strolled in from the cockpit, stretching and flexing her arms.

"Don't encourage him!" Jacques answered quickly. "Just nod and accept a drink."

"Non-alcoholic please, Demo," Miss Pauling said primly. "I've got a plane to pilot after my break."

"Ach, I know that! I dinnae want us to crash, y'ken. How come you know how to fly this thing, anyway?"

"You mean you don't? I thought everyone learnt as kids. I mean, it's not difficult or anything." The group in the cabin all turned to stare at her blankly. She shrugged."You guys had a weird upbringing."

"Now that's the bloody truth," Malcolm muttered bitterly, before shaking himself and giving a wide grin. "I'll make Tyler summat too. Let's see...A nice girly Shirley Temple, and a Bitter Tonic." He started rummaging about behind the bar.

"A girly drink? You better not be making me something bright pink and sickly, Malcolm," Anna said warningly.

"Ah, lassie, the Shirley Temple's for Engineer! Yer far more manly than him."

"Thanks, I think," she replied as he handed her a glass of clear, colourless liquid. She took a cautious sip and her eyes widened. "Hey, this is really good."

"I can always match a person to their drink," Demo replied with a smile. "I'm gifted that way."

"Just not an alcoholic, but a _gifted_ alcoholic," Jacques said wryly.

"I'm not an alcoholic!" Demo protested. "I'm just an anti-social drinker."

"You mean you drink until you're anti-social?" Tim asked. He took a sip of bright red drink and blinked thoughtfully.

"It helps keep my hands steady when I'm setting up explosives, ye ken," Demo explained.

"Zhat actually makes sense," Erwin interjected. "After long experience, an expert in any profession builds up procedural memory, vhich could be described as unconscious, or automatic memory. Alcohol can impede declarative memory, allowing procedural memory to take its place. Zhat allows for quicker reaction times."

"Bloody hell," Tim muttered, pulling his hat over his eyes. "Wake me when we get there."

"I better get back," Anna said, gripping her drink firmly. "Tyler will be along for a break soon."

Jacques saw Erwin look around the cabin with a mixture of puzzlement and irritation. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then he frowned, gave a short sigh of resignation, and shut it. _Yes, there. The misunderstood outcast._ He thought with a bitter satisfaction. _That is a possible motivation._

The idea, though, filled him with revulsion. Innocent until proven guilty, he reminded himself, and right now, the evidence was very thin. Before they had got on the plane, he had privately asked Anna why the Medic had been allowed to come, considering that he was under suspicion. She had looked at him and replied that they needed a Medic. However, from her pointed stare, he knew she had another motive:

_Give a man enough rope, and he will hang himself._

She was waiting for Erwin to make the wrong move. A risky game, to be sure, but they _had_ to find their traitor.

"Fellas," Tyler said, stepping out of the cockpit after Miss Pauling had returned. He flexed his fingers. "Whoo-ee I was ready for a break. So, what's cookin'?"

"For you, laddie," Malcolm handed him the Shirley Temple. Tyler's eyebrows raised up his head in surprise.

"Shirley Temple? Why, that's my favourite outside of anythin' ethanol-based. Thanks, son."

Marcus snorted in amusement.

"Surely a sugary drink such as that is very bad for one suffering from a medical condition such as yours?" Jacques asked.

"Not if he is hypoglycaemic," Erwin muttered, staring at his fingers and apparently still somewhat annoyed.

"S'ok as long as I allow for it. A li'l more insulin than usual later, I'll be fine," Tyler replied with a shrug. He had a quick swallow. "Sure hits the spot."

"How long until we get there?" Marcus asked.

"Well, we're landing at Piura in about two hours. Over half way there now. Then we hire a truck and bus on out into the high Cajamarca region. The roads are hella steep an' nasty, so we go careful and stay armed, too. Once we get close, we've gotta avoid the roads, so we'll trek the last fifteen miles or so, and then set up camp. I'll then code a teleporter back to home."

"Ah, zhere is somezhing I forgot to tell zhe Spies," Erwin said, looking up with a smile that showed too many teeth. "As you know, ve vill be going into zhe Andes. Zhey are mountains."

There was a snort of laughter from underneath Sniper's hat.

"I am aware of that, Docteur. Your point being?" Marcus asked.

"Altitude sickness, mein Freund," Medic replied with far more glee than Jacques would have like to have seen. "Your lung capacity needs to be at its best. And zhat means no smoking during zhis mission."

"What!" Marcus said, sitting up in alarm. "You tell me this _now?_ Had it occurred to you to give us some time to adjust?"

"Had it occurred to you vhat zhose stinking zhings are doing to your health?" Erwin snapped in reply. "Consider zhis a chance to give up. I did, some years ago, and I have never regretted zhat decision." The doctor's eyes glittered with a wicked mirth he wasn't even bothering to hide.

"Mon dieu," Jacques said with a sigh. "For the sake of the mission, I will comply. But I am _not_ pleasant company when deprived of nicotine. I will try not to stab anyone. No promises."

"Filthy habit," Malcolm said, tutting in disgust. "Ye should be ashamed of yourselves. Addictions are fer the weak. Why d'ye smoke so much, anyway?"

The two Spies looked at each other before looking away hurriedly. They both knew the true reason why they smoked, but neither would _ever_ admit it: they smoked because it looked dashing and suave, and _also_ because it kept their figure. _Not that it's a matter of vanity._ Jacques told himself quickly. _A good Spy has to be slender enough to be able to fit into small spaces for surveillance purposes._

Marcus cleared his throat. "My job is quite stressful, oui? Smoking helps with that. It also gives me a reason to carry my disguise kit without causing suspicion."

"I found sucking lollipops helped me give up," Erwin suggested. Jacques and Marcus just glared at him and he shrugged. "I have some, should zhe need arise. Cherry ones."

"I need a drink," Marcus declared.

"Martini, shaken but not stirred?" Malcolm asked.

"Ahah, so amusing," Marcus replied with a light and very false laugh. "Gin and tonic, s'il te plait."

"Nothing for me, thank you," Jacques replied. "I think I will try and catch up on my sleep before we arrive." He closed his eyes and leaned back. He had never found it easy to sleep around other people and preferred his privacy, but he knew that this was not going to be an easy mission and that this might be his last chance for a peaceful nap.

They were heading to a country full of altitude sickness, humid jungle, mosquitoes, drug barons and, worst of all, no smoking. Jacques had a feeling he was going to hate Peru.

* * *

_I hate Peru._

Another branch of wet leaves slapped Jacques in the face. It was raining again. Did it ever stop raining? He hated rain. He hated water. He hated _everything_. Most of all, he hated that little nagging voice in the back of his head telling him how much better everything would be if he just had one cigarette. One little cigarette. That wouldn't do any harm, would it?

"Bordel!" Marcus hissed as his sleeve got caught on a branch and ripped. Jacques spared him a quick, sympathetic glance. His double was pale and sweating, and he could see his jaw muscles move under his balaclava as he clenched his teeth. The two of them were lagging behind the rest of the group, wheezing for breath as they climbed the slippery hill.

_Just one little cigarette..._

They had left the transport behind about five hours ago, and had been walking in this horrible, disgusting pit of a place ever since. The heat was a special kind of unpleasant. Even though New Mexico had been hotter, this was a damp, airless heat that removed all life and joy. The air stank of mud and moist decay, and the bushes rustled as hidden things skittered away from them. He felt sick, his throat was raw and his head pounded. His precious suit and balaclava were beyond ruined. The fine material was ripped, smeared with mud and soaking wet. Medic and Sniper had insisted he use some sort of sticky lemon-scented spray to keep mosquitoes off, so now he stank of lemon, dirt and sweat. He was disgusting. He idly reached in his pocket for his... _merde!_

The ground was uneven and the hills were steep. Jacques felt this wasn't so much walking as an odd mixture of tap-dancing and mud-sliding. His foot caught under a branch yet again, and he pulled it free with a low growl. His ankles ached from being made to work so hard at keeping balance. At least there was more light up ahead, and it seemed that the slope flattened out for a bit. That might be slightly easier going.

"We'll stop at the top, mates," Sniper Tim called. He suddenly slapped his leg and then grinned, holding up a tiny black speck. "Gotcha, ya little bastard!"

The bushman seemed to be actually _enjoying_ this, damn him. He was their guide in this hostile territory, and he was completely at ease, weaving through the jungle as if he were a native. Hat tied onto his head with a strip of faded brown cloth, he used his kukri to chop through the vegetation and walked with a steady pace up and down the steep hills. It was almost like the chaotic life of this place was nourishing and sustaining him. He seemed more alive here than he had at the Institute.

_Here we see the species known as the Disgusting Bushman in his native habitat. He stalks his prey expertly, disguising his smell with a layer of filth and sweat..._

Medic also seemed surprisingly at ease, even though he was carrying his medigun backpack and various pouches full of God-knows-what. His lab coat was ripped, frayed and now a universal brown colour, but he didn't even seem to care. He said something to Sniper and the two of them laughed.

_They're laughing at me! Damn them!_ He felt his hand reach for his dagger automatically, before he stopped himself, wondering where that thought had come from. He blinked, trying to clear the anger clouding his mind. God, he needed a cigarette. He needed one _right now_.

Demo seemed to be coping fairly well, too. He was drenched in sweat, but he kept his pace steady, using a long branch as a walking stick. He hummed as he walked and drank from a bottle. Jacques had a horrible suspicion it was nothing more than just water.

Behind them came Engineer and Anna Pauling, and they both obviously disliked it here. They walked silently and grimly as if they were heading to their executions. Occasionally, Engineer would lend the petite woman a hand to get over a rock or a rotting log, and she would accept it without complaint.

"Right. This'll do." Tim smacked a few branches down to make a rough clearing. "Let me just go up for a quick look around, check on our route. Be right back, mates." Without another word, he leapt upwards, grabbed a branch and swung himself up into a tree.

Erwin stared upwards, mouth open in surprise, before shaking himself and sitting down on a small mound of earth with a pleased sigh.

"Don't sit there, mate. Anthill," a voice drifted down from above.

"Scheiße!" Erwin gave a shriek and leapt up hurriedly. He slapped down all his clothing and danced away from the spot in panic.

"Eh, come on, laddie, it's only a few wee bugs," Demo said with a faint laugh, placing his stick and backpack down. He dragged a crumpled blanket out of his pack and lay it down on the leafy mud.

"Zhose 'wee bugs' could kill me if I get stung," Erwin panted, edging towards the blanket carefully.

"Nah, 's just a normal ant bite. Hurts, but it won't do ya any harm," Sniper's voice said.

"Oh ja, zhey are just agonising unless you happen to have an allergy _vhich I do!_ " Medic snapped.

"Oh yeah. Sorry mate, I forgot 'bout that. Good thing I said summat, eh?"

Engineer and Miss Pauling entered the clearing and flopped down on to the blanket just as Sniper leapt down from the tree with a thump.

"I can see the plantation, a couple a' hills away. About seven miles more. Let's take make camp. I'll get the water boilin'." He looked down to the two Spies, still struggling up the hill. "How're you doin', pansies?"

"I will kill him," Marcus muttered, and then got hit in the face with a branch he had failed to notice.

"I will watch," Jacques replied, panting for breath as he reached the camp. "Make it slow."

The two of them staggered into the camp and collapsed onto the leafy floor with a squelch, no longer caring about their suits or dignity.

"Wow, you fellas look rough." Tyler said, poking Jacques with a finger. "C'mon, get on this here blanket and dry out a bit."

Jacques just moaned and crawled over to the blanket before flopping down with a sigh. _Just one little cigarette..._ A finger poked him and he opened an eye. Demo held out a small square of white crystalline material.

"Go on, take it. It's Kendal mint cake, good for getting your energies up durin' a walk. It's pretty much pure sugar wi' a bit of peppermint oil in, but it tastes right good."

"Zhat's actually a good idea," Erwin said. "Zhe sugar vill help vizh zhe cravings. Do you have a sore throat?"

"Oui, as a matter of fact."

Erwin nodded knowledgably. "Ja, zhat can happen during vizhdrawal. Zhis is not an ideal situation to quit."

Jacques gave the innocent white square a glare, and the popped it in his mouth. It was eye-crossingly sweet and very strongly minty, but as it slowly dissolved in his mouth into a soft goo, he had to admit it was oddly soothing. Without another word, demo snapped rest of it in half and handed one piece each to the two Spies.

"Right." There was a crackle and a whiff of smoke as the fire caught. "I'll get the tarp up. You can tie hammocks up and get out the mosquito nets too. Gotta keep the bugs off."

"Ah, what I would give for a shower right about now," Miss Pauling said with a sigh and a stretch.

"S'alright, doubt you stink any worse than the rest of us," Sniper commented idly.

"Thanks," Anna replied tartly.

"I could get the teleporter goin'. Then we could all head on back and grab a shower."

"Nein." Erwin said firmly. "We are at about 1,700 metres above sea level. Switching rapidly between zhe air pressure here and at zhe Institute vould make any altitude sickness much vorse. Except for emergencies, zhe teleporter is _only_ for transporting goods to and from zhe base."

"Tomorrow night," Sniper promised. "We can get our proper base set up an' camouflaged. Then we can teep in all the creature comforts. It'll be proper cosy, you'll see."

"I rather doubt that," Marcus replied sourly.

"Get a good night's rest, guys," Anna said. "Tomorrow will be a busy day."

**In Chapter Five: The group continue their journey through Peru and plan a sortee to the plantation.**


	6. Cold Turkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making two guesses today. First of all, few of my readers smoke, and secondly, all of my readers are sadists. You all seem to enjoy seeing Spy suffer from lack of cigarettes far too much!
> 
> Funnily enough, I don't smoke either. So why don't we make Jacques and Marcus suffer some more, hmm?

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Five: Cold Turkey**

_"Secrecy, once accepted, becomes an addiction."_

_\- Edward Teller_

Jacques was not sure if he woke up the next morning, or if he had simply never slept. There were...gaps in his memory that suggested sleep. However, he had more memories of tossing and turning (and falling out the hammock at one point) while his head pounded and his throat got more and more painful. He felt alternatively hot and cold and even found himself sucking his thumb at one point, much to his embarrassment. He had not gone this long without a cigarette since he was 15, and it _hurt_.

He heard movement, and cracked open an eye to see Sniper ambling around the camp, rebuilding the fire and doing various rugged bushman things. Marcus was already awake, staring into the fire with red rimmed eyes set in shadowed sockets. Jacques wondered if he looked as bad as that. He gave a quiet moan and sat up.

"Mornin' Jackie. You two look bloody awful," Tim said, stirring a billycan of water. "Who'd've thought quitting would be so horrible?"

Jacques licked his lips. His mouth tasted of leaf mould and misery. "I can cope."

"Right," Tim said. Jacques couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "Tea or coffee?"

"Café, s'il te plait."

"One coffee comin' up. Strong enough to knock your balaclava off. Want a second cup, Marcus?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Marcus muttered, hunched over his tin mug.

"You smoke as well, bushman," Jacques pointed out. "Aren't you missing it?"

Sniper shrugged. "Wouldn't mind a durry, s'true. I've gone without before, though. I've had to hole up in some dry places, full of wood. Better to go without than to burn, I say."

"I'm sure Pyro would disagree," Marcus said, holding out shaking hands for his refill. "Does your throat hurt too, Jacques?"

"It feels like I have been drinking acid," Jacques agreed as Tim handed him a mug as well. It had a chip on one edge and the enamel showed through. He grimaced and forced himself to use it for the sake of the caffeine.

"Zhat's your mucus membranes starting to repair after years of damage," a sleepy voice said. A hammock shivered and Erwin carefully sat up and stretched. "It's a good sign, actually."

"You fail to reassure me, Docteur," Marcus said.

"Mein Gott." Medic hurried over and stared at the two Spies, hands folded behind his back. "You look terrible. How much have you been smoking recently?"

"Enough," Jacques grunted.

"Tea or coffee, Doc?"

"Tea, bitte. Fairly veak. It's important to stay hydrated in zhe jungle."

"Strictly speakin', this isn't jungle, but you're right," Sniper replied, sloshing some water into another mug.

Erwin nodded and accepted his drink. Jacques watched him carefully, but he didn't seem at all ill-at-ease or as if he was trying to hide anything. Certainly, he had done nothing criminal yet, if one discounted his violin playing.

The others woke with various groans and sounds of annoyance. Miss Pauling complained bitterly about the lack of showers and sleeping in her clothing, and Jacques could only agree. His skin itched with the need for soap and cold, clean water.

As he silently listened to everyone talking, his hands kept twitching towards his empty jacket pocket, which remained stubbornly empty of cigarettes no matter how often he checked.

After they had all eaten breakfast, or at least attempted to in Jacques' case, they struck the camp and set off again.

The next few hours wore Jacques down from merely miserable to a grey state of constant torment. At times, he found himself idly wondering if he could threaten Tyler into building a teleport, but he was fairly certain the Engineer would just laugh it off and point out that Medic could resurrect him.

At one point, Sniper and Medic started singing, and Jacques decided that they _all_ needed to die, just not Tyler. Sniper seemed to be teaching Medic some ghastly Australian song:

_"... Ah, that awful lonesome feeling over mind and body stealing._

_Bringing melancholy madness pressing down the soul like lead,_

_Till I felt my brain was reeling, all my mental powers congealing,_

_The whole world so sad and silent that I wished that I were dead._

 

_Even Nature changed her seeming ; the red sun with hatred gleaming,_

_The bright stars, to me once glorious, scorned and jeered at me in my pain,_

_Aria the fickle moon smiled beaming, while the birds went shrieking, screaming,_

_Till my reason tottered trembling, trembling, trembling in my brain._

 

_Do I like this wretched, dreary bush existence ? What a query !_

_'Tis a wonder, that I haven't suicided long before ;_

_For my bloodshot eyes are bleary, and my back is bent and weary,_

_I've rheumatics and lumbago, and my heart is seared and sore..."_

 

"WILL YOU TWO IMBECILES JUST SHUT UP!" Marcus suddenly yelled. He made a gurgling noise and coughed a few times. There were a few squawks and bird flaps and the forest fell silent as the two astonished men turned back in amazement. He sat down on a small hillock of earth and crossed his arms. "I am not moving from this spot until that atrocious din is ceased."

"But I like it," Erwin said in protest. "I used to sing vhen I was hillvalking back in Bavaria. Zhe scenery zhere was beautiful. I vish you could have seen it."

"Nothing wrong with a good Aussie folk song." Sniper smiled toothily. "All the best songs start off happy and end miserable. Just like the real world. Also, anthill, mate."

Marcus leapt up with a screech, patting his clothes hurriedly.

"I have some hydrocortisone cream if you got stung," Erwin said helpfully. "Plus an entire library of antivenins and steroids. I can't vait to try zhem out! If you see a snake, try to get bitten."

"Oh, Lord," Miss Pauling said, wiping the sweat off her forehead. She left a stripe of dirt there. "I think the Spies need a short break. Will that put us behind schedule, Sniper?"

"Nah," Tim replied. "Only another couple o'miles now. I can see a dip that'd make a nice hidden camp. It's slow travelling in this forest. Bloody gorgeous place though, eh? Don't you just love it?"

His comment was met with a silent stare. He shrugged and muttered something to himself about 'Bloody inside people'.

"I am willing to continue if need be." Jacques said hesitantly. He ached all over, but the idea of everyone stopping for his sake was so undignified it horrified him. Spies were invisible- everything happened around them, and they went with the flow. They never showed suffering or lost their poise. Unfortunately, Jacques had realised his air of calm efficiency had been left behind at the Institute, along with his cigarettes.

_When I get back, I shall smoke an entire packet, box and all._

Tim gave him a surprisingly kind smile and patted his shoulder. "S'alright, spook, we've all got our different strengths."

"I could do with somethin' to eat myself," Tyler remarked. He undid the top two buttons on his shirt and rubbed his sweaty neck. "And I thought Texas was hot! This sure is something else again."

"Aye, I'm not built fer this. 'Least I can wrap up against the cold," Demo said, handing the two Spies and Tyler more of the mint cake, which they silently accepted. "Heh, can you imagine what the laddies and lasses back home'd say if they could see us right now?" He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it entirely, sighing in pleasure as the air hit his sweaty skin.

"I wish I could do that," Anna remarked.

"No one's stopping you, wee lassie," Demo replied with a lascivious grin. Miss Pauling stifled a giggle.

"Malcolm! What kind of remark is that to make in front of a lady?" Tyler snapped.

"Believe me I'm tempted," Anna replied with a smile. "Anyway, when we set up base camp, it's not like I'm going to have much privacy. So you might as well get used to it. Of course, if you stare too much, you'll lose your kneecaps."

"I'll be havin' words with anyone who treats you disrespectful," Tyler said sternly to the group.

"Eh, it's too hot to be disrespectful anyway," Demo said, winking at Miss Pauling, who grinned back.

"It is entirely your choice, Miss Pauling," Erwin said. "It vill not make any difference to me if you need to cool off."

"So I heard," Tim muttered.

" _However_ ," Erwin continued, glaring at Sniper, "We should keep one layer on, to discourage biting insects. Has everyone taken zheir anti-malarials?"

There was a chorus of tired yesses.

"Sehr gut! Ve vill also need a course of anti-filarials vhen ve get back, and I'll need samples of your..."

"Medic, please stop talking," Anna said.

"Rggh," He muttered in annoyance. "Vell, you can at _least_ put on insect repellant if you don't mind too much. Is anybody feeling any effect of zhe altitude yet?"

There was a chorus of noes, and Jacques felt a quick spike of anger. If _nobody_ got sick, he'd be very cross. After all, the danger of altitude sickness was why he was unable to smoke. He stood up suddenly, ignoring the ache in his legs.

"Let us move before Medic disgusts us any more, oui?"

Erwin took up his usual place besides Sniper, and they set off again. As they travelled, Erwin looked around the group, analysing them for any symptoms without really consciously meaning to. The two Spies were obviously suffering hugely, but it seemed to be merely withdrawal rather than anything more serious. He wasn't sure if he was sympathetic or not- after all, it was self-inflicted, and he had found in his medical career that giving sympathy to those who knowingly hurt themselves just made them hurt themselves more. Anyway, he disliked having to deal with the whole 'bedside manner' thing. It was tedious and, as far as he could tell, it didn't make people any better.

Erwin agreed with Sniper Tim that this forest was, indeed, beautiful, but what made it beautiful in his eyes was the danger. He could see with his inner eye all those gorgeous tropical diseases lurking and just waiting to pounce. With a bit of luck, someone would have intestinal parasites by now. He was going to have so much fun diagnosing them all when they were done here.

_As long as they don't kill me for being a traitor._

Medic pushed a dripping branch to one side and scowled. He had been trying not to think about the way he had been accused. He had no more idea who was behind these attacks than anyone else at the Institute, but he was bitterly certain that he would be blamed if he didn't find some way of proving his innocence. And then what?

How would the Institute handle crime of this magnitude, with people who didn't officially exist and couldn't be put in prison? There was, surely, only one way: turn off respawn and execute them.

Could he escape before that happened? Possibly, but how long would that work with an entire group of Spies on his tail? A mosquito hovered by his face and he slapped it quickly before it could sting him. He examined the squashed insect idly. He would have to come up with a contingency plan...

"Yeah, this'll do." Tim's voice broke into his train of thought. "Ok, ya bunch o' sorry wankers, we can camp here. We're just far enough outside the farm that they'll not notice us, but close enough for easy missions. The main buildings are in the valley just over this hill."

"Good to know," Engineer said, panting slightly as he walked into the camp. "Phew, this sure ain't easy walkin' round here."

"True," Anna Pauling said, walking up alongside him. She wiped her brow. "Wow. I've never been so sweaty."

"Aye, but ye reek mainly o' that lemony stuff the Doc gave us." Malcolm put his arm around her and smiled. "Anybody got anythin' tae drink?"

"No alcohol until you are properly rehydrated," Erwin said sternly, holding out a water bottle.

"I meant water, ye gut-lovin' barmpot!" Malcolm replied. "I got ma hip flask wi' me for the good 'ol water o' life if I need it."

"I don't zhink I understood a vord of zhat. Your accent is ridiculous," Medic complained.

"Look who's talkin, ye..."

"I'll get the teleport up an' then we can make ourselves a nice comfy camp, how about that?" Tyler interrupted.

"Soldier has got the things ready for us," Miss Pauling said, before sighing. "I hope. I mean, I gave him a list and he insisted on taking care of it, but God knows what he'll actually have got ready for us. Rocket launchers, jars of honey and five billion cans of tomato soup, I bet."

"Ah, mon dieu," Marcus said, as he and Jacques staggered up and collapsed onto the leafy floor. "Did I just hear that right?"

"Sure wish I could say otherwise, but you did," Tyler said, getting his equipment out of his lumpy backpack. "Best to keep him busy, you know that. Let's just hope the little lady kept him outta trouble."

"What have I said about calling _your boss_ that?" Anna said, pulling her fingers through her sweaty hair and removing something small, black and wriggling with a grimace.

Tyler just smiled, shook his head, and continued to set up the teleport. Miss Pauling made an annoyed noise, and then blinked and shrugged.

"I guess tomorrow we go and have a look around." She turned to the two exhausted Spies. Marcus coughed pathetically, and she nodded decisively. "I think Jacques and Tim could go and explore. Just a peek, no heroics."

"I suppose I better go vith zhem," Erwin said, suddenly.

"I...I guess you could. In case they get injured..."

"Zhat's part of zhe reason," Medic replied, now sounding sharper and more bitter, turning towards Spy Jacques, "But mainly, I vas zhinking zhat Jacques vould have a hard time keeping an eye on me if he's off in zhe forest. _Vouldn't you, Jacques?_ "

Jacques eyes snapped open.

"Okay, Medic, okay," Anna Pauling said quietly. "I told him to check up on you. It was merely a precaution. Blame me if you're going to blame anyone. Jacques was just doing his job."

"Wait, what's this?" Tyler asked, his voice rising. "What happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

"It is an unpleasant necessity," Jacques said, heaving himself into a sitting position with a groan. "It is better to be careful than dead. If Erwin is innocent, as we all hope and pray, I will be sure to apologise."

"I don't _hope and pray_ zhat I'm innocent, I _know_ I am," Erwin snarled in reply. "And I vill get zhat apology and _more._ "

"Woah, woah fellas," Tyler said, jumping to his feet and holding his hands out placatingly. "This'll get us nowhere. Now y'all listen to me: right now I don't care what you think. Erwin is one of us, understand? We give in to suspicions, we've already failed. Has it ever occurred to y'all that this is just what that Carmine fella wants? For us to tear each other apart? You're doin' his work for him."

"Zhank you, Tyler," Erwin said quietly, slipping his medipack off his shoulders.

"So, I'm gonna say this." Tyler pulled his shoulders back and looked Medic in the eye. "Medic's one of us, an' I'm sure he's no traitor, but I tell you this: if I'm wrong, I'll put a bullet in his brain myself."

"I zhink I shall take back zhat zhanks, after all."

"But you know what? That ain't gonna happen, because _he's not our traitor._ Y'all got that?" Tyler finished. He flashed a quick smile at Medic and patted him on the shoulder before turning away. Erwin just made a wordless growling noise.

"Bloody hell," Sniper Tim muttered as he dropped out of a tree. "I leave you blokes alone for a few minutes and you all start actin' like teenage girls."

"Aye he's right," Malcolm said, taking a swig from first the water bottle, then his hip flask. "Let's get this place right an' proper. Tomorrow is when it all happens, laddies."

Miss Pauling cleared her throat.

"And lassie, o' course."

**In Chapter Six: It's time to visit the plantation, but not only does the sortie go disastrously wrong, the base camp is in trouble too...  
**


	7. Not Another Bad Cough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, it's the weekend! I've had two really busy weeks and now I can relax and have some fun...and also post some story. This is the chapter where everything starts to turn into a glorious train wreck. From this point on, I expect you to think 'God dammit, no!' at least twice a chapter.
> 
> Thanks everyone for taking the time to read this, and I always appreciate it. Favourites, Reviews, Follows, Comments etc etc are very welcome and will make me think nice thoughts of you. There's no drawback!

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Six: Not Another Bad Cough?**

_"We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal." - Tennessee Willliams_

"Up and at'em, sunshine."

A finger poked Jacques in the chest the next morning, and he blinked his eyes open, with a groan. He had tossed and turned most of the night, but obviously had finally fallen asleep _just before it was time to wake up_. Of course. He reached for his cig...

_Merde!_

"Good to see you got some sleep, at least." He squinted at the smiling Texan sitting cross-legged beside him. "Heard you tossin' and turnin' all night. How're you doin', son?"

Jacques looked at the Engineer carefully. He had his hardhat and goggles on this morning, so his expression was hard to read, but he was sure there was some mockery in that crooked smile. He felt his lips twist into a snarl.

"None of your business." Using his voice was surprisingly painful and he felt quite hoarse.

"That bad, huh?" A callused hand patted his shoulder heavily. "Don't be so glum, we all got our vices. This is just danged unfortunate timin', huh?"

"I am entirely able to perform my duties, if that is what is worrying you," Jacques said stiffly, getting to his feet. His head pounded, and his joints ached. He could smell bacon cooking and it curdled in his stomach. _Mon dieu, I am a wreck. Was my addiction this bad? Shouldn't I be feeling better by now?_

There was a groan that matched his own, and he looked across to see Marcus running a shaking hand over his balaclava. He felt a flare of anger against his double- not so much for being weak and pathetic, _but for letting it show_. He then looked down at his own trembling hands.

"Look, seriously, we can wait a few days 'til you're up to it," Tyler said in a quiet voice obviously meant for his ears only.

"The cigarettes..." His voice trailed off as he imagined getting that little white tube out of its case, the metallic click of the lighter, and that delicious, perfumed smoke gliding down his throat, into his lungs and soothing him right down to his fingers... He cleared his throat. "They are merely a pleasant distraction. Nothing more."

Tyler stared at his measuringly for a moment before shrugging. "Fair enough. After a good hot breakfast, it's all your show."

* * *

And that was how Jacques now found himself creeping through this damnable forest, dressed in a disgustingly filthy suit with Sniper Tim and Medic Erwin. He could feel his temper shortening with each step, especially since Tim was managing to be more quiet in this jungle than he, _the Spy,_ was. His footsteps whispered down, each foot placed carefully and silently. At least Jacques managed to be quieter than Erwin, who seemed to have a gift for finding every twig and branch and snapping it loudly.

"If you keep doing that, Medic, I am going to have to assume you're deliberately trying to give us away." Jacques hissed at him at one point.

The man looked furious and took a deep breath, just as Sniper slapped a hand over his mouth.

" _Quietly,_ remember?"

Erwin frowned, but his eyes swivelled towards Tim and he nodded. Tim's head suddenly snapped up, and he held out a hand warningly.

"Patrol."

The group went silent. Sniper and Spy both relaxed into still postures, keeping their muscles loose, while Medic stiffened like a statue. Jacques rolled his eyes. All those years of running about in a white coat had left Erwin useless at hiding. _Unless he is doing it on purpose..._

There was a rustle of leaves and voices carried through the damp air to the three infiltrators.

"¿Quieres ir a tomar una copa después?"

"Sólo si hay chicas bonitas. ¡Eres demasiado feo para mirar!"

There was good natured laughter. Jacques felt like joining in for a moment, as he realised he still had invaluable skills even when craving nicotine.

"Nothing serious." He whispered. Talking made his throat ache. "They are discussing what to do after work."

"¿Tú enteró que?"

Spy held a finger to his lips hurriedly. Sniper blinked to show he had understood, while Medic nodded.

It was then that he felt it. That little, tiny thing that would spell disaster for all three of them.

_Oh no..._

His throat, starting to heal from years of smoke damage, tickled. _He was going to cough_. He swallowed, and his eyes watered with the effort of holding the cough back. _He was going to cough._ He made a tiny whining noise in the back of his throat as the tickle became a searing itch. _He really, really, was going to cough._ Through tear-filled eyes, he saw Tim look at him in surprise and a rising horror.

"Show Pony, no!" He hissed. "Don't you bloody dare!"

_Dear God, don't let me cough._

He coughed, a single sharp bark, and that was all it took for the flood gates to open. He coughed and coughed until it felt like he had stripped a layer of skin off his throat, and his mouth tasted of tar and chemicals. Medic's head snapped around and he glared at him in shock as the patrol crashed through the bushes and grabbed his collar, half-throttling the doctor and pulling him to his feet while he struggled and pulled at his shirt. One of Erwin's hands rose up, and the teeth of his saw glittered in the sunlight before a baton slammed down on his forearm. The doctor jolted and gave a gargling cry as his arm bent unnaturally and went limp. The saw thudded down into the thick leaf mould and was kicked away by a steel-capped boot.

He was barely aware of the sounds around him, but hands grabbed him roughly and dragged him and the other two men upright. He coughed as commands were shouted at them and guns pointed in his face. He coughed as Tim and Erwin spat insults both to their captors and to Jacques himself. He coughed as Tim tried to break free and was knocked out with a rifle butt to the head. His friend slumped in the armed man's grasp, while Erwin struggled and yelled something in German. There was the click of handcuffs.

"¡Vamos a decirle a Carmine!"

"Ok."

He finally managed to stop his cough with a huff and a gasp for air. His mouth had some foul-tasting substance in it and he spat, missing the nearest guard by inches. The man grinned nastily at him and punched him full in the face. There was a crunch as his head snapped back and nauseating pain spread from the centre of his face like black ink in a pond.

"¿Qué hay debajo de esa horrible máscara?" There was a chuckle and Spy felt the top of his head being grasped and yanked.

"Non, non, non!" He tried to grab hold of the corner of his balaclava. "Laisser il seul!" His prized possession, the thing that made him The Spy, his shield and protection, was yanked away, leaving his ordinary face, and worse- his rapidly thinning hair- exposed to the air.

"Él es Francés! Y tan feo, ¿eh?" There was more laughter as his hands were cuffed just like Medic's. Sniper was still unconscious, with a purple stain forming across his face, but they put handcuffs on him too.

The three of them were dragged away through the forest, and their captors did not worry too much if they got slapped in the face by branches or thorns. They quickly reached the main compound. It wavered in front of Jacques' streaming eyes. Orange with white window and door frames. Ballustrade. Neat. Cheerful. Jacques bit the inside of his cheek at the sight. Whoever ran this place knew very well how to hide.

They were half-marched, half-shoved through the neatly paved yard and into the house. Jacques was pushed ahead of the other two mercenaries, but he could feel their accusing stares making his back itch.

_If we get out of this alive, they are going to kill me._

Even worse, he would absolutely deserve it.

* * *

"I can't believe we're doing this," Marcus declared.

"It's your turn," Miss Pauling replied. "You won, so you go next."

"I refuse to take part in this idiocy!"

"Eh ye just cannae think of summat!"

"Of course I can!" Marcus gave a nasal sigh.

"Prove it."

"Alright, alright: I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with...T."

"Tree," Tyler said without even looking up from the circuit board he was playing with.

"Correct. Your turn."

"Now c'mon Spy, you're not even tryin'," Tyler said idly.

"I am not trying because this is _moronic!_ " Marcus snapped. He cleared his throat and coughed softly.

"Temper, temper," Demo said with a grin. He nudged Anna. "Think it's his time o' the month?"

She snorted in amusement. "Have you tried chocolate, Marcus? Chocolate and aspirin is my favourite."

"You disgust me," Marcus replied with a sneer, before crossing his arms and turning his back on the entire group. "If you wish to have a mature conversation, I will partake, but for now I am going to pretend none of you exist."

"C'mon, fellas, don't tease the man," Tyler said, putting his circuit board down. "Goin' cold turkey is a hell of a thing to do at the best of times, and this ain't the best of times."

"Aye, that's bloody true," Malcolm added, with a nod. "I once tried to give up drinking, y'ken. Bugger me, that was pure rough. Made my hands shake an' my heart pound like a Scout was trapped in me chest. I didnae even get to see the wee pink elephants you're supposed tae get wi' the DT's. I woulda done _anything_ for a wee dram, anythin'. Couldn't stop thinking about that sweet alcohol..."

"I didn't know you'd ever stopped drinking," Anna said. "When was this?"

"Oh, a few months back." Demo shook his head sadly, before flashing a sudden toothy grin. "Worse five minutes o' my life."

"Can we go back to playing I-Spy?" Marcus asked in a quiet voice. "Please?"

"Five more minutes, and they're officially overdue," Tyler said quietly.

"Bugger," Malcolm said with a sigh. "I hate waitin' around like this. It's tougher than bein' in the war. Must've been tough on you, lassie, when we were all off doin' our stuff and you had to wait for us to come back."

"Not really. After all, if you died, you could always... be... replaced..." She trailed off, aware of the dour silence at that remark. She shrugged and loaded some ammo into her pistol. "Well, you could. You know, for a group of hardened mercenaries, you guys are way too attached to your lives."

The silence deepened and became colder as the three men glared at her.

"Hey, I'm including myself in this!" She said defensively, raising her hands. "Look at us: we're all copies. I report everything to Katie, so that if we get captured or killed, the WPD can go on, with the same people, the same skills, same everything! You know it's true. We're expendable. Come on, guys, you know our jobs are the riskiest in the Institute."

"I do not believe in suicide missions," Marcus declared. "The only people who do are those who send _others_ on them- by trickery, threats, or brainwashing. Either way, my career path does not include being a glorious martyr."

"I hope you're not suggesting we leave our people in there?" Tyler asked, his voice gaining a sharp bite to it.

"No, of course not!" Anna protested, holding her hands up defensively. "They have valuable information, after all."

"Well, soon, they'll be late," Tyler said solemnly.

"It is possible..." Marcus stopped and swallowed, "It is possible that Erwin betrayed them. He was so insistent on going along."

"That makes a nasty kind o' sense," Malcolm replied with a grimace. "But I hope to God you're wrong."

"He _is_ wrong," Tyler stated. "I don't believe Medic is our traitor for a second. Even if he's the only apparent suspect. It don't make no sense."

"I don't wish to believe it either, Engineer," Marcus said. "But Medic is somewhat...self-centred. You know as well as I do that he would hang any one of us out on the proverbial washing-line if it were advantageous to him."

"No," Tyler stated firmly. "I don't know that. Maybe the ol' Violet Medic would have done that, bastard that he was, but Erwin? No, never."

"They're exactly the same person!" Anna pointed out.

"You sure of that?" Tyler asked quietly.

Anna frown in puzzlement and opened her mouth to reply, when a noise interrupted their discussion. A crackling, fizzing noise, and the smell of burning...

"What in..." Tyler started to say.

And then the world exploded.

**In Chapter Seven: At the camp and in the plantation, the mercs are all fighting for their lives- and Jacques figures out who the traitor is...**

_Translations:_

_¿Quieres ir a tomar una copa_ _después? - Do you want to go for a drink later?_

_Sólo si hay chicas bonitas. ¡Eres demasiado feo para mirar! - Only if there are pretty girls. You're too ugly to look at!  
_

_¿Tú enteró que? - Did you hear that?_

_Vamos a decirle a Carmine! - Let's tell Carmine!  
_

_¿Qué hay debajo de esa horrible máscara? - What's under that horrible mask?  
_

_Laisser il seul! - Leave it alone!  
_

_Él es Francés! Y tan feo, ¿eh_ _? -He's French! And so ugly, huh?_


	8. We All Fall Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got lots of positive responses to my last chapter, so thanks for that! I suspect, though, you're going to be calling me an utter bastard after you read this chapter! And yes, you'd be absolutely right. The end of this chapter makes me wince and I wrote it!
> 
> On a completely unrelated note, I recently reread the 'Blood In the Water' comic, and I realised I'd mis-read a line in a way that I personally think works far better than the original! I read Demo's line about Sniper (when Sniper is lurking behind him) as 'Let's get outta this hovel before he makes a lamp out of our feces'. Much more in character for Sniper, yes?
> 
> All reviews, favourites, follows, kudos, comments and offers of alcoholic beverages will be gratefully accepted!

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Seven: We All Fall Down**

_"Hope is necessary in every condition. The miseries of poverty, sickness and captivity would, without this comfort, be insupportable." - William Samuel Johnson_

Tyler felt his mouth open in a sharp cry, but could not hear his own voice. Something thudded into his hardhat, and then everything went briefly black before his sight appeared.

There was a final crackle and fizz, and the air filled with blue smoke and the stink of burning insulation.

"...Tarnation..." Tyler croaked. "The Hell was that?!"

"Merde," Spy said quietly. "Ah...putain de bordel..."

"The teleporter," Malcolm said. "Ah, _fuck_."

"Uh, guys?"

Tyler blinked and looked over at the blackened crater where the teleporter, their link to the Insitute and their lifeline, had been. Now there were just a few bits of scorched metal.

"Guys?"

"That...that...can't happen!" Engineer exclaimed, crawling over to the broken pieces of metal. He touched one and the glove over his robotic hand sizzled and blackened. He drew his hand back with a hiss. "There was nothin' wrong with it. It weren't sapped, there was no warning, it just ain't..."

"Uh, guys? I've...ah! Got, uh...ow. A problem? Right here. Guys?"

Tyler looked over at Anna Pauling and then swallowed. He had seen plenty of wounds, yes, but...not on women. Women were different. They, he felt, shouldn't be involved in war. His stomach flipped over at the sight of the bright red blood bubbling over her delicate little fingers as she clutched her chest.

Demo shouted in alarm and lunged over to her, ripping off his jacket and pressing it against the wound. Marcus shouted something, but Tyler could not hear it over the roaring of blood in his ears.

"Get her to the dispenser," Marcus barked.

Malcolm had already looped his arms around her chest and was dragging her over to the dispenser that Tyler had set up as soon as they had established the camp. The dispenser hummed as it attached a glowing blue tendril attached to her.

"You'll be fine, lassie, you'll be fine," Demo said, carefully removing the cloth from her chest. He sucked in his breath with a short gasp. Tyler saw him shake his head slightly.

"Yeah...I saw that," she gave a chuckle that made blood bubble down her nose. Her face was rapidly draining of colour, and she panted for breath "Wow. This...this feels weird. Really...really..."

"I believe a piece of metal has pierced your lung," Marcus said calmly. He knelt down by her. "Try to breathe deeply and calmly. He beckoned to Demo. "Help me lie her down."

"Oh Lord..." she said faintly, her eyes fluttering in a grey face as Malcolm and Marcus placed her on her side.

"Normally, I'd say we wait for Medic to come fix this," Tyler said quietly, "But, well...we all know a bit of first aid...gotta just do our best. You sort her out, I'll see what happened to this here teleporter." He swallowed, feeling the sweat on his brow turn cold as their situation sunk in. _Half our team is missing, our little lady is mortally wounded, and we're stranded in the middle of hostile territory without backup or supplies. Not sure it could get any worse..._

"Let's get to it," Malcolm said firmly, bring out his hipflask and handing it over to Marcus. Marcus' balaclava rose up his forehead. "What?! You think I'd keep me whiskey to meself even _now_? What the bloody hell? I'm no' that kind o' monster! Hold on, little lassie. Jus' hold on."

"S'ok," her eyes opened and she looked up at Demo with a slight smile. She took a deep, gasping breath. "We're expendable, remember?"

"Lassie..."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went slack in Malcolm's grasp.

* * *

Sniper Tim was woken up by a feeling of coldness on his face. He flinched as another drop of water hit his eye. He shifted and blinked his eyes open.

"Uh, bugger me." The dim light of the cell still hurt his eyes as he sat up. The side of his face felt hot and mushy. "Roof leaks." His head pounded and he was tempted to lie back down again and ignore the world for a bit.

"Ah, good, he woke up quite quickly. Zhat suggests no brain damage. Sniper, tell me your name, zhe name of zhe current USA president, zhe date of your birthday and zhe first four steps of glycolysis."

"Leave the filthy bushman alone, Medic." Tim looked over at Jacques and was surprised to see his mask was missing. "How are you feeling, mon ami?"

Sniper looked around blearily. The three of them were being kept in a row of damp prison cells. Jacques was in the cell next to him, and Erwin was in the furthest away cell. Spy looked a complete mess. His nose was crooked and there were dark purple bruises around his eyes. Crusted blood had leaked out of his nostrils and had dripped down his face onto his mud-stained suit. He glanced over at Erwin, who was just as muddy and was busily using strips of his shirt to...tie his arm to the bars of his cell?

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" He asked.

"Splinting my arm," Erwin replied with an idle shrug. "Zhere is nozhing else suitable."

"Both remarkably practical and impractical at the same moment," Jacques commented. He reached up and ran a hand through his thinning hair with a defeated sigh. "You are the quintessential Medic."

"Fick dich."

"How long was I out?" Tim touched the side of his head carefully and winced.

"Just along enough for them to throw us in here and leave us to stew," Jacques replied. He sighed. "I realise this is all my fault. I would apologise, but that seems to be rather...inadequate."

"I blame zhe..." Erwin grabbed a strip of cloth between his teeth and pulled it tight. "Zhere! A perfect splint. Now, vhere vas I?"

"They only captured us because of my lack of willpower," Jacques continued bitterly. "If I had not been there... If I had not been so weak..."

Tim had seen Jacques go into one of his frenzies of self-depreciation before and cut him off quickly. "Bugger that. It's easy to say 'if this, then that', but you never bloody know for sure. Mebbe they'd have found us anyway. Maybe they'd have tracked us with dogs. Maybe we'd have walked into a pit trap. Maybe we'd have been eaten by rabid budgies."

"What?"

"I was just making sure you were listening, show pony," Tim said with a slight smile. Jacques smiled back hesitantly. "See? Don't be so hard on yourself, mate."

"Mind you, it vould have been nice if you hadn't coughed," Erwin pointed out."It vas hard for zhem to ignore zhat." He flexed the fingers on his broken arm and then hissed with pain.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Medic," Tim replied with an eye roll.

"It vas a _really_ loud cough, after all," Erwin continued. "Very common vhen people stop smoking."

"Thank you for reminding me," Jacques said quietly. He felt his face carefully. "They say smoking is bad for you. They _never_ mention that giving it up can get you captured by a South American drug baron."

"It vas on my advice you stopped smoking," Erwin added. "Have you thought about zhat?"

"Frequently," Jacques spat. "Often while dreaming about carving small pieces off you while you scream horribly."

"I think what Medic is _tryin'_ to say is that you could say it's all his fault, since he told you to stop smoking," Tim pointed out. Erwin nodded encouragingly, giving Jacques a supportive smile that just made him snarl in response. "Just depends how you look at it. Personally, I blame those wankers who walloped me with the rifle. So, how about we stop this bloody stupid blame stuff and concentrate on deciding how fucked we are?"

"In films, zhe bars on cages are always so far apart I could have slipped zhrough zhem," Erwin said wishfully. "Vhy can't zhey be like that in real life?"

"Alas, drug barons do not wish their prisoners to gain egress," Jacques replied. "Our first priority is to plan our escape."

"Our blokes will all be looking for us," Tim pointed out. "I've got no bloody idea what the time is, but we'll be overdue, sooner or later."

"Maybe zhey vill..."

"Can I suggest we do not discuss what their plans to rescue us could be?" Jacques cut Erwin off quickly. "Or what they may use to do so?"

"Oh...ja. Good idea. Of course. Hmm."

"Honestly, Medic, how the bloody hell did you hide in New Orleans for so long when you're so shit at keepin' secrets?" Tim asked.

Medic gave a snort and a shrug. "Nobody expected zhe strange white foreign doctor to act normally. Spy, come over here. I need to straighten zhat nose before it ends up crooked. Can you breathe zhrough it?"

"Not even remotely." Spy felt his nose and hissed. He looked at Erwin warily. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"Vell, it will be somevhere between 'Agonising' and 'Excruciating'," Erwin replied with an idle shrug. "But it has to be done. I von't judge you if you faint."

"I will," Tim said. Jacques spun around and glared at him, and he shrugged. "Look, gotta get some enjoyment somewhere when things are this bloody awful."

Jacques made a slight growling noise and moved over to the bars so that Erwin could reach his nose with his one working hand.

"Y'know what?" Sniper found himself looking at the back of his friend's head. He could see Erwin's hand move to the middle of Jacques' face. The german's arm tensed. "You've gone even more bald since I last saw you without that stupid sodding mask. Think you're going grey, too. Makes you look really old."

"What! Filthy bushman, how dare..."

Erwin's arm moved in a quick and decisive movement. Jacques made an odd gargling noise and fell back, gasping for breath. His face had gone white, except for the bright purple of the bruises and his mouth fell slackly open.

"Show pony?" Tim scooted across the floor in concern. "Sorry, mate. Thought it was best to distract you while he did that. I've had my nose reset, it bloody hurts."

The man raised a shaking hand in a gesture that was surprisingly obscene for the suave Spy.

"I want it understood," He panted, "That my hair is not a subject for discussion. _Ever_."

"Just as well, really, since what's left isn't worth talkin' about," Tim continued.

"Fuck. You. Sniper." Jacques growled, pulling himself upright with a groan. Fresh tear tracks had washed two channels of blood off his face.

"You alright now, Jackie?"

"I... believe so. Mon dieu, that was horrible."

"Ja, zhere are many nerve endings in zhat area," Erwin said with a nod. "It looks far better now, except for the haematomas, of course. Zhose vill heal in time."

"So...what now?" Tim asked.

"We wait, and see what they want with us," Jacques said. He closed his eyes. "Realistically, there are two options: execution or interrogation. However, if they wanted to kill us, they could easily have done so before now, which leaves us with..." He voice trailed off.

"Torture," Erwin said flatly. He squared his shoulders determinedly. "Zhey vill get nozhing from me. I have an unusually high tolerance for pain."

"Also, you love it," Tim added.

"I do _not_ love pain!" He protested. "Vhy do people keep saying zhat?!"

"I have been trained to withstand torture," Jacques said quietly. "Show pony?"

"Bugger it." Tim said in resignation. "I'll do me best."

The men sat in silence for a bit, trying and failing to come up with something to say, something that would make it all seem better. Something that would lighten the mood, even a tiny bit. Eventually, Tim just gave up and closed his eyes. _Might as well get some sleep before it all goes to hell._ Being bashed on the head had left him draggingly tired. He was just starting to drift off when there was the slam of a metal door.

_Well, here we go..._

"¿Cúal?"

He looked up to see three men standing outside the cells, sub-machine guns at the ready.

"Los Alemán primero. llevarlo a Davi. ¡Carmine realmente lo odia!"

"Caballeros," Jacques stood up solemnly, tweaking his suit sleeves straight and looked the gaolers straight in the eye. "Yo cago en la leche de tu puta madre."

"Cállate, puto." The tallest man banged Jacques' cage with his rifle and snarled at him. He gestured at the other men. "Traerlo."

While one man hung back, gun at the ready, the other opened Medic's cage. He frowned at the strips of material tying Erwin to the bars, and quickly slit them off with a knife. Erwin hissed with pain and hugged his arm to his chest, but the man just grabbed the doctor's collar and hauled him upright.

"Was?" He grit his teeth and shook as his arm was jolted. "Scheiße. Gottverdammte, lassen mich gehen! Ah...Gott. Gott..." He looked back at Tim and Jacques, his eyes wide with shock, before they dragged him out of the room, leaving the two men alone.

There was a brief silence before Tim shifted.

"Poor wanker." He sucked in his breath. "Well, this is bloody awful. Worst situation I've ever been in, and I've been in some bad ones. We're up shit creek without a paddle. Hell, we don't even have a sodding _boat_."

"Even worse than you may think," Jacques replied quietly. "Mon ami, I believe we have no hope of rescue."

"Huh?" Tim felt his spine tingle. "Are you just being bloody miserable again, or..."

"Listen to me," Jacques said earnestly. " First, Erwin insists Marcus and I stop smoking, knowing it would..."

"Utterly fuck you up?"

"... _inconvenience_ us. Then, he had to come along on this sortie. Predictably, we get captured, and then he just _happens_ to get taken away for 'questioning', leaving us incarcerated. Up to this point, _all_ of Erwin's actions have placed us in further danger- and now he is no longer here."

Sniper swallowed as he thought about what Jacques had just said, and his stomach flopped over in horror. "Oh...well...bugger. But hang on, they broke his arm!"

"He said it himself, he has a high tolerance of pain," Jacques commented. "Perhaps it was planned, perhaps it was an accident."

"Why, though? What's in it for him?" Sniper asked.

" Perhaps it was for money, various exotic entrails, or an endless stream of subjects for him to experiment upon. Who can say? Didn't you notice that he seemed rather unconcerned about being in captivity?"

"Well, yeah, but...he's _Medic_. Bloke's got a screw loose. Everyone knows that." Tim shook his head sadly. "I find it hard to believe, but...it all adds up. Bugger it, I wish that didn't make so much sense!"

"I don't like it either, mon ami, not at all. But mark my words," Jacques said, leaning back against the bars and closing his eyes. "By now, our base camp will have been attacked- and Erwin will be relaxing in comfort with a glass of wine in his hand. I guarantee it."

**In Chapter Eight:** **Tyler has some good news and some really terrible news about the teleporter...**

_Translations:_

_Fick dich- Fuck you_

_¿Cúal? - Which one?_

_Los Alemán primero. llevarlo a Davi. ¡Carmine realmente lo odia! - The German first. Take him to Davi. Carmine really hates him!_

_Caballeros, yo cago en la leche de tu puta madre. - Gentlemen, I shit in your whore mother's milk (this is apparently one of the worst possible insults in Spanish. Native Spanish speakers, I apologise.)_

_Cállate, puto. - Shut up, bitch._

_Traerlo. - Bring him._

_Lassen mich gehen - Let me go!_


	9. Cold-Blooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us continue! Have I ever mentioned I really love writing? If not, well, now you know. It's a shocker, I realise. Sharing the stuff I write with other people just makes it all the better. It encourages me to be as polished and professional as I can. I'm curious: are there any other fanfic authors out there who write the entire story before posting, the way I do? I love the creative control it gives me- I alter things and retcon to my heart's desire. I've just rewritten a later chapter completely because I suddenly decided it sucked.
> 
> In other news, I've just hit 1000 views! Woot! Many many thanks to everyone who has taken their time to read my nonsense. Now, let's go on with the show.
> 
> Just as a warning, this is the chapter that made me ponder whether this story should have an M rating. I decided against it, since I feel I could have read this as a teen, and also I didn't want people being disappointed there was no smut in it.

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Eight: Cold-Blooded  
**

_"To torture a man you have to know his pleasures." - Stanislaw Lem_

"Hold her still," Marcus ordered. Malcolm nodded and adjusted his grip on Anna's shoulders as Spy opened the hip flask. He poured a small amount of the cheap liquor on his hands and a pair of Medic's forceps before reaching down to Anna Pauling's exposed chest.

Malcolm swallowed, feeling a horrible queasiness at seeing this brave, intelligent and capable woman completely helpless and exposed like this. He remembered teasing her about going topless earlier, and it didn't seem so funny now. Even worse, she had long featured in pleasant daydreams and fantasies wearing about this much clothing (or less) and it seemed so cruel that he was finally granted a peek- and that what should have been a lovely view was marred by drying blood and that horrible, bubbling hole in her chest.

_Be careful what you wish for..._

Marcus gritted his teeth and swallowed, reaching into the wound with a pair of forceps from Medic's bag. He poked the wound cautiously before removing his hands and flexing them with a grimace, and then reached in again.

"I can feel her heart beating. It's weak, but there," He commented. "But no...ah...wait, there."

"Hurry up," Malcolm urged.

"The dispenser'll keep her stable," Tyler said. Supposedly, he was working on the teleporter, but his wrench was grasped between white knuckles and he kept turning to watch. "Take your time and do it careful."

"I can feel something hard." Marcus shuddered and pushed his fingers in. "Mon dieu, I am not made for this. It's so...wet and hot. And everything is _moving!_ Ah, wait..."

He suddenly made a grabbing motion and then gritted his teeth in triumph. He began to move his hand out, biting his lip so hard it bled as he did so. The dispenser whined as bright red blood foamed over his fingers. He pulled them back slowly, and with a final obscene sucking sound, the shard of metal came free. He wound made a horrible sighing noise and he quickly slapped his hand over it.

"Don't keep your hand there too long, Spy. It might be healed permanently onto her chest," Tyler warned.

"Here." Malcolm handed over some clean dressings from Medic's first aid kit. Spy took them with a nod and pressed them to Miss Pauling's small chest. Marcus snapped his fingers again and Malcolm stared for a second before handing him some medical tape. Marcus nodded and strapped the dressing in place. He then sat back with a long sigh.

"Is...is she...?" Malcolm stammered. He realised he had been holding his breath so long he had gone light-headed.

"Still alive, at least," Marcus replied softly.

"Lassie?" Malcolm called softly, stroking her white cheek. He grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around her gently before drawing her into his arms and holding her close. He looked up at the other two men, daring them to make a comment, but their eyes were fixed on their fallen comrade. He wanted, oh he so wanted, to hold her tight, to rock her and make it all better. "Little lassie?"

Anna Pauling made an odd gurgling noise and then coughed. Malcolm felt something warm splatter onto his face as her green eyes opened in shock and confusion. She blinked and looked around, her mouth opening soundlessly.

"Ach, thank God." Malcolm breathed out slowly.

"Don't try to talk," Marcus said. "You have a punctured lung, but you will recover. Do you understand me?"

The injured woman's eyes flicked over to Marcus and she nodded weakly before spitting out something red and jelly-like. Malcolm wiped her mouth with a calloused thumb. Her eyes sought out his, full of questions.

"Oh, lassie," He murmured. His hand wanted to reach for the hip flask that was no longer there. "Dinnae scare me like that." A hand patted his shoulder supportively.

"You keep on holdin' her like that," Tyler said. "The warmth'll do her good."

He looked back sharply at Engineer, but the man just smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder again.

"That is the worst part over, at least," Marcus said, wiping his bloody hands on a silk handkerchief. He looked at the stained cloth in disapproval. "Now we just need to survive long enough for her to recover."

"Wh...wh..." Anna coughed softly. "Te...tel..."

"The teleport?" Tyler asked her. "Well...there's some good news and some real terrible news."

"Your bedside manner lacks somewhat, Engineer," Marcus said drily. "But tell us the worse."

"Well, the good news is it weren't actually _us_ that was attacked," Tyler said, taking his helmet off and wiping his forehead. "Seems like a massive electrical charge came through from the other side. So, we're safe and it don't seem like nobody knows we're here."

"So, your bad news is that 'the other side' is the Institute," Marcus said. "They have been attacked."

Tyler nodded grimly. "I've built a new teleporter, and you can see, it's dead as a doornail. It can't connect back to the Institute's teeps. None of them are workin'. So, I tried the ol' TF industries place, up in Alaska, an' that's dead too. They're _all_ dead. Seems someone took out the whole teleporter network."

Miss Pauling made a small gurgling noise.

"Ach, bloody hell, where's that flask," Malcolm asked. Marcus had a quick swig himself before handing it over wordlessly and Malcolm took a gulp, feeling the harsh alcohol slick down his throat, warm and soothing. "So, while we're stuck out here playin' boy scouts, the Institute's been attacked. Mebbe even destroyed."

"That don't seem likely," Tyler replied, shaking his head grimly. "We fought off a robot army, remember that? Mind you, I don't even _know_ what could knock out the network like this. We can't even find out- those long-distance comms of ours rely on the teeps to carry the signal onwards."

"How about all that wiring and radio stuff Violet Medic put in our bones?" Malcolm asked hopefully, but Tyler shook his head.

"That's short range only. Won't even reach as far as that Plantation place. Otherwise I'd be gettin' hold of the fellas there and finding out what in Sam-Hill has happened to them."

"I shall make an unpleasant suggestion now, one that we should consider seriously," Marcus said slowly. "We are missing men, we have a casualty in need of urgent care, and we are cut off from our backup. Perhaps it is time for us to cut our losses, and retreat."

"You can't be serious!" Tyler said.

"No way in Hell. You've gone bloody daft." Malcolm sat up straighter for a moment, but Anna gave a pained gasp and he relaxed again. "Sorry, lassie."

"We don't leave our folks behind." Tyler said firmly. "Now now, not ever."

"Oh, please," Marcus replied. "You are not Soldier, so don't pretend otherwise. We have to be realistic about our chances here. Do you honestly think we can rescue them, with such limited resources? It is far more likely that we would die in the attempt, and then any intelligence we have gathered would be lost."

"If it's lost, it's lost," Malcolm said firmly. "I'm not leavin' my pals back there, facin' God knows what."

"Spy..." Anna said with a gasp, struggling for each word. "Is... right. Leave...them...and me. Get back...home. Best way."

"No!" Malcolm shouted. "I'm no leavin' anyone behind, 'specially not you, lassie."

"Heck no," Tyler agreed. "We're safe here for now, what with the dispenser and sentry. We've got supplies. Hell, we might be safer here than at the Institute! We dig in, fortify and _then_ get them out. You want intel, Spy? Well, Erwin, Jacques and Tim- they have it, and we _need_ to know what they know. So. We. Are. Staying." At the last three syllables, Engineer poked Marcus in the chest, glaring up at the taller man.

"Thank you," Marcus sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"What for?" Tyler asked suspiciously.

"For giving me a reason to stay," Marcus said, his lips twitching into a small smile. "It is my job to be the heartless bastard, oui? That doesn't mean I am not very happy you chose to disagree with me."

"Stupid," Miss Pauling grumbled.

"Aye, stupid, but right," Malcolm said. He gave a sudden grin. "Just like all our best plans."

"Talking of which, that is exactly what we need to do now: plan," Marcus said briskly. "So, let us come up with a daring and reckless rescue plan, yes?"

* * *

 

 _Shock. I am going into shock. Caused by dehydration and general trauma._ Erwin's eyes closed slowly. He had been through respawn often enough to know the symptoms of the body just shutting down and giving up. He felt cold, nauseous, and sort of drunk, as if nothing was real. Was he sweating still, or was he too dehydrated for that?

He honestly couldn't tell. It was becoming hard to feel anything beyond the pain and dizziness. He wasn't even sure how long he had been there- there was no daylight in this little room. It had been...interesting, in an odd way. He knew exactly which parts of the body had the most sensitive clusters of nerve endings, and he had sometimes wondered what it would feel like to experience the exquisite, scientifically targeted pain of the sort a torturer would inflict.

Yes, he had expected the pain. That wasn't the worst bit. Pain happened- it was merely the body's way of communicating that it had been damaged. What he had not expected was just how horrifying it was to have pain inflicted on you deliberately and without passion- and being unable to stop it in any way. For his interrogator, Davi, this was just another dull day at the office. He was obviously not even important. Somehow, that made it worse.

It had started with the fingernails. He didn't have many of those left now. Then, the toenails. Needles. Broken bones. That little red hot stiletto knife...

He could tolerate the pain. He could tolerate the lack of sleep. He could tolerate the thirst. Really, he could.

_He would._

"You dying now," Davi said quietly. "Carmine say to me, this ok. I not have to keep you alive."

"Ja, I know," He croaked. "Not zhe first time."

Through cracked lenses he saw the hispanic man's forehead wrinkle in confusion and he heard himself give a creaking chuckle. The torturer's eyes widened in horror, and Erwin felt a rush of strange triumph. _If I can't survive, I can at least be a bad memory..._

"You are insane," Davi whispered. "Mad."

"I've been told zhat before. I don't worry about it much zhese days." He felt his mouth grin, his bruised lips splitting and bleeding. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him. His vision filled with black and white spots. "Oh, Gott."

"You die here, alone," Davi said, coming close and whispering. He held a jagged knife up to Erwin's eye. "The two men, they say they escape, leave you here. I hear them talking. They not care about you."

"I don't believe zhat." The nausea got worse and he heaved drily. He was already covered in various unpleasant bodily fluids. He craved a nice saline drip and some morphine...

"You vomit, you lose eye." The knife ran along his cheek, leaving a line of sharp pain as it got closer to his eyelid. "Maybe you lose it anyway?"

There was a sudden burst of gunfire outside the room. Davi startled and twisted around, dropping the knife into Erwin's lap in surprise.

"I come back for you." He reached for his pistol and ran out of the room. There was another gunshot and a cry of pain. Erwin recognised the cry as Davi's. There was more gunfire, then muffled voices.

 _Rescue!_ He sat upright in the chair, shaking with the effort. "Bitte, hilfe! Hier drin!" He coughed, his dry throat barely managing any noise above a whisper. "Gottverdammte." He panted for breath. He was just so tired...so...so...tired...

"You sure 'bout that?" Voices filtered through the wall. There was further talk, more muffled.

"Hier! Hilf mir!" He rasped, wriggling his one working hand in its restraint. Even doing that made him pant for breath. His vision was filling with writhing greyness and he forced himself to breathe as deeply as his broken ribs would allow.

_Stay conscious. Stay sane. Stay conscious. Stay sane..._

"Positive. We cannot waste our time on Erwin right now. He is not an urgent problem." That was either Jacques or Marcus. Erwin's eyes snapped open again. "Let him stay with his drug baron friends."

"Nein..." He gulped back a sob. Drug baron _friends_? Did they think he was on their side?

_Unacceptable._

"Bitte...hier..." Surely they wouldn't...they couldn't... He looked down to the knife Davi had dropped onto his lap. It seemed to be either in focus and double, or blurry.

_Knife._

_Stay conscious._

_Sharp._

_Stay sane._

_Have to get out._

_Stay conscious._

_Think._

_Stay sane._

_Knife._

_Stay_

_Conscious_

_Think_

_Stay_

He passed out.

* * *

Some time earlier, Jacques had been staring despondently at the tin plate in front of him.

Jacques and Tim had been surprised to find they were well supplied with food and water, although Jacques suspected it was more simple laziness than any deliberate compassion. Why make special horrible slop for a couple of worthless prisoners, when you could just give them some of the usual repast from the mess hall?

Jacques stared at the plate of vegetables and some sort of spiced meat before picking it up and eating a mouthful. It was dry and tasteless in his mouth and he had to force himself to swallow.

"Yeah, I know," Tim said. "I don't wanna eat, either, but we gotta keep our strength up. This kinda thing always buggers up my stomach." He looked over at Tim, who picked up a piece of yam with his dirty fingers. There was no cutlery, of course. He took a bite out of it and chewed slowly before swallowing.

"This is our... sixth meal?" Jacques commented, picking out a piece of gristle and delicately putting it down on one side. "So, we have been captured over two days. Mon dieu, what I would give for a bath!"

"Bloody poofter," Tim said with a snort. "Never mind rescue, or worry about the others. All you want is a bloody bath."

"If they shoot us," Jacques said, an odd pleading tone to his voice, "Do you think they will offer us a last cigarette?"

"Sodding hell, Jackie, you've _got_ to cut back on those bloody cancer sticks." He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "So where the fuck is our rescue?"

"The most likely explanation is that our base camp has been...neutralised," Jacques grimaced. "Erwin will have given them the location. We have to be realistic, mon ami."

"Great. Bloody great." Sniper pushed his food away hastily. He sighed and slumped against the wall, wrapping his long arms around his knees. "I always thought I'd kark it in a hail of bullets, quick an' violent, not rotting away in some stinking cell."

"I always thought I'd die on a mission. Alone, unnoticed and uncared for," Jacques said quietly. "But at least here, I am not alone."

"Never, Jackie." Tim shuffled over and patted Jacques awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here with you. Stuck in this fucking cell."

There was the jingle of keys, and a lone guard marched in, pushing a trolley with covered plates on it. Jacques sat up and frowned in suspicion. _Could it be...?_ So far, all their captors had visited in pairs at least, so that they couldn't overwhelm them. He glanced over at Tim, who also sat up, tense and ready.

"Dessert for you." The sweaty-looking man said, grinning and showing yellow teeth. He unlocked their cells. The doors swung open, wide and inviting.

"Dessert?" Tim stood, and Jacques recognised his posture- muscles loose, ready to flee or fight. "What kind of prison serves pudding?" Jacques also got to his feet, looking around for something, anything sharp...

"You sure you don't see something you want?" The man took the cover off a plate. Tim made a grunting sound of surprise.

The plate was stacked with guns, knives and ammo.

"That does not look very digestible," Jacques said, his face splitting into a wicked grin. He quickly grabbed a small knife and a pistol. "Toi, fils de pute, Marcus!" Jacques grabbed his exact double into a brief but tight hug.

"Bloody hell, it's about time," Tim said in relief. "Thought I'd be stuck with this bloody whinging fruit-shop owner here forever more!"

"Apologies for not being more timely. We were delayed due to...unforeseen circumstances," Marcus explained, his disguise still intact but his voice gaining its normal nasal twang. "Where's Medic?"

"Oh, he got 'taken for interrogation' immediately," Jacques said sourly. "Convenient, hmm?"

"I see. A pity." Marcus blinked, and Jacques could see the thoughts racing through his head. "He is a lower priority for now, in that case."

"Ye found them!" Malcolm burst into the room, brandishing his grenade launcher and wearing a huge grin. He raced past Marcus and grabbed the Jacques and Tim in a tight hug. "Bloody hell, Jacques, yer' as bald as a coot! Kept that well hidden, didn't ye? What happened to yer nose? It's as big as a grapefruit!"

"What are your plans?" Jacques asked, carefully ignoring Malcolm's words and trying to politely pry himself out of his grasp.

"Not the most sophisticated, I'm afraid," Marcus said apologetically. "Come in, kill everyone, rescue you, leave."

"Well, it worked," Tim admitted.

"C'mon laddies, there's a lot of pissed-off people out there after our blood," Malcolm said with a shooing motion. "Time to go."

The group scurried out into a larger room that had four dead men slumped over the table. A door slammed back and an tanned hispanic man with a neatly trimmed beard entered. Marcus quickly shot him through the head. Another man with a blood speckled face entered and Tim emptied a clip into him as well. The man twitched as the bullets hit him and then fell limply to the floor.

"Time to go," Marcus commanded.

"Hang about, we gotta find that mad doctor of ours! We cannae leave him, can we?"

"We can," Jacques said shortly. "Don't you understand, Malcolm? He was our traitor."

"Bugger me." Demo stopped in his tracks. "You sure 'bout that?"

"Positive. We cannot waste our time on Erwin right now," Jacques said impatiently. He glanced around, expecting more guards any second. His head snapped up at a muffled noise. He had been sure, for a second there, that he had heard a voice calling... "He is not an urgent problem. Let him stay with his drug baron friends."

"Didja hear somethin?" Malcolm asked, pointing his grenade launcher around the room.

"For the love of God, don't fire that thing in here!" Tim said. "You know it's..."

"Wait. That man," Marcus said quietly. He sounded so lacking in his usual poise the others swung round to look at him in surprise. He was pointing down at the corpse of a man they had just shot. "His hands are covered in blood. Look at his...his toolbelt." They looked down.

Pliers. Wires. Crocodile clips. A bottle of some sort of gel. Many small knives, most of them blood stained. The group looked up slowly at the door the man had entered through.

"You think he has someone in there right now?" Malcolm asked, his hand flexing.

"Let us find out," Marcus said grimly.

Jacques wanted to close his eyes and not look.

The door opposite them creaked open, slowly and hesitantly. A small, ridged knife clattered to the floor with a musical chime. The group tensed and readied their guns and then lowered them in horror as they looked at the ravaged figure slumped in the chair.

**In Chapter Nine: The daring rescue continues, and this time, it's Malcolm's turn to make a bad mistake...**


	10. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realised I need to stop being mean to Medics. It seems that they always suffer a lot in my stories. Incidently, the name 'Erwin' here is pronounced the German way- as 'Ehr-vin', I think is the best way to write it phonetically. In the phonetic alphabet, it's eːʁviːn, although I do wonder if this website will mangle that...
> 
> Anyway, let's carry on being mean to Medics. What's that look for?
> 
> In other news, I've had a fun idea. I'm convinced that nobody will guess who the traitor really is, so I'm offering a prize: the first person to guess correctly wins a strange gold botkiller flamethrower. There is only one rule: you've got to tell me how you figured it out. No random guessing! Deal?

**The Shadow On The Reef**

**Chapter Nine: Contact  
**

_"Experience is simply the name that we give our mistakes." - Oscar Wilde_

"Ah, shite," Malcolm muttered. He shook the unconscious man's shoulder. "Bloody hell. It's alright laddie, we'll get ye out o' here." Marcus silently handed him a bloodstained hacksaw.

"Was...?" Erwin's eyes cracked open halfway, his eyes dull and unfocused. Jacques felt his mouth drop open and throat tighten in shock. Spy found his mind capturing everything in flash-frame images. Mottled purple skin. Twisted arm. Stench. Cuts. Missing nails. Half-ripped leather cuffs on his wrists. Burns. Barefoot. Ripped clothing. Later, in sleepless nights when the guilt cut particularly hard, he'd replay this moment, over and over.

"Oh...Mon dieu," Jacques croaked. "Oh God."

"Warum...war... vhy... did...you said..." His voice was a cracked rasp before he suddenly went limp.

"Yeah, he's our traitor alright," Malcolm snapped, glaring accusingly at Jacques. He quickly wrenched the man free of the restraints, and hoisted the unconscious man over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. "Bloody hell, he reeks. And you were gonna leave him here?"

"I...I...oh God," Jacques said in a smaller voice.

"We can sort this out later. Let's get out of this shithole," Tim growled. He staggered briefly and then shook himself, blinking in surprise.

"Bushman?"

"S'alright, just dizzy there for a moment." He shuddered. "Doesn't matter."

The group hurried through the building, past the toppled bodies of the people Malcolm and Marcus had killed to get in. By the time they exited the building, there were a few more corpses of the unobservant or just plain unlucky added to the pile. Jacques felt his shoulders itch as they crossed the muddy courtyard once again, expecting that final bullet any moment. Right now, though, he felt he would have deserved it.

_We almost left him behind._

They plunged into the tangled undergrowth and their progress slowed as they made their way to the camp. Erwin stirred once or twice, muttering incoherently before falling unconscious again.

_I was_ sure _it was him. He had to be guilty,_ had _to be._

Jacques swallowed, forcing the thoughts aside. In a desperate situation like this, they had to focus on what was important: getting back to the camp as quickly as possible.

_He will never forgive me for this. Nor do I deserve forgiveness._

After an eternity of being slapped in the face by branches and tripping over buried logs, they reached the camouflage netting that covered their base camp. Marcus pulled it to one side and let Malcolm carry Erwin through first.

"You're back! Oh my God, what happened to him?" Anna asked anxiously, her voice breathy and wheezing. Jacques noticed she was wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the dispenser, which hummed with activity. Her face was pale and clammy with dark shadows under her eyes.

"Torture." Malcolm said briefly, putting Medic down next to her. He moaned and stirred slightly as the dispenser sent out another tentacle of healing blue light.

"Are you injured? Were you attacked?" Jacques asked Anna. "What has happened here?"

"We've had our own situation here, hence the slow rescue. Sorry 'bout that," Tyler said, trailing a long wire behind him. "Good to have y'all back, fellas."

"Anything serious?" Jacques asked.

"Now that I don't truly know," Tyler said, quickly summarising the events of the last day. Jacques listened carefully, and finally exhaled in a long, exhausted sigh. He had no energy left for this. Nothing. God, he needed a cigarette.

"Durstig. Wasser..."Erwin moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He gave a short, hacking cough. "So durstig."

"He wants..." Marcus started.

"I know," Malcolm snapped, and then got a dented tin mug and held it to the delirious man's lips. "Just wee sips, Medic. Take yer time." The man replied something in garbled German before trying to grab the mug in shaking hands and dropping it. Malcolm patiently picked up the cup and refilled it again.

"Will...will he be ok?" Anna asked anxiously. She shifted awkwardly and winced.

"I believe he is exhausted and dehydrated as well as the more obvious broken bones and trauma. The dispenser will quickly improve his condition," Marcus said.

"Looks like they took the odd tooth too," Malcolm said, leaning back to look measuringly at Medic's bruised mouth for a second. Erwin made a protesting noise and Malcolm brought the water back to his lips. "Oi, slow down, yer barmpot! You'll puke it all back up."

"It looks like they used only the crudest interrogation techniques on him," Marcus continued with a disapproving sniff. "Nothing subtle or sophisticated. Medic is a remarkably...resilient individual. He will recover."

"Dag nab it," Tyler said suddenly. He took his helmet off and rubbed his head. "This mission has gone all the way to hell, hasn't it?"

"Ja," Erwin croaked suddenly. He took another sip of water, spluttered and swallowed. "Zhat vas unpleasant."

"Erwin, I..." Jacques paused. "Apologies are not enough. This is all my fault."

Erwin blinked slowly at him. "I heard... You zhought... zhought zhat..."

"If I can find some way to make amends, I will do so," Jacques continued. "For now, though, all I can do is admit that I...failed you. Failed you all. Terribly."

"Aye, well, we can still achieve summat useful here. I did a bit o' good old fashioned family work while we were pokin' around in that damn farm. Cover your ears, laddies," Malcolm declared. He rummaged in a pocket and got out a small switch with an antenna attached. With a grim smile, he pressed his broad thumb down. There was an echoing boom, followed by the squawking of birds and the shrieks of alarmed monkeys. The leaves of the trees rustled for a second before the normal noises of the forest came back.

Marcus' mouth hung open for a second before he closed it. "I presume that was...?"

"The plantation. Aye," Malcolm said with a certain vicious satisfaction. "Torturing bastards deserve it."

"I'd like to have got more information from it, but I guess we just have to roll with it now," Anna said with a resigned sigh.

"It'll keep them busy and away from us too, while these two recover," Tim said. He sat down suddenly. "Bloody hell, I'm knackered."

"None of them deserved to live," Jacques said firmly. "Let us merely hope that this 'Carmine' person got caught in the blast."

"I get the feelin' our luck ain't running that good right now, spook," Tyler said, returning into the camp trailing another wire.

"What you up to there, Engie?" Tim asked.

"I'm seeing if I can set up a long distance radio so we can get a hold of the Institute," Tyler explained. "We gotta find out what the hell is goin' on. The problem is gonna be findin' a frequency they'll be listening to, because..."

"Medigun," Erwin said suddenly, looking around with a little more sense in his eyes. "Vhere is it?"

"Oh no..." Marcus said, closing his eyes and slapping his forehead. "We... we left it behind in the farm, didn't we? Mon dieu, we are _idiots_!"

"It was more important to get everyone out alive at the time, remember?" Malcolm pointed out. "Bollocks to the weapons- people first, guns second. And dinnae tell Soldier I said that."

"It's no big deal," Tim pointed out. He shivered slightly, and pulled his jacket tight around himself. "It'll still be with the weapons those buggers confiscated from us, back in the plantation. It means another sortie, but we can get it back. Most of 'em are dead anyway."

"Aye, we c..." Malcolm stopped mid-sentence. "Oh bugger."

"Oh," Tyler said. "Well, yeah, that there's a problem."

"Was ist los?" Erwin asked, pushing himself slightly more upright with his one working hand. It seemed the dispenser was giving him a little more energy.

"Seems I, eh, blew up your medigun," Malcolm said sheepishly.

"Oh God," Anna said quietly. She shifted a little and hissed in pain. "Seriously, is there any other way we can screw this mission up? Katie's going to have my kneecaps. _Both_ of them."

"As long as nobody brought along venomous snakes, I believe we may have reached the limit of our incompetence." Marcus said sourly.

"Nah, not this time," Tim commented idly.

"What do you mean 'This time?'" Anna asked suspiciously.

Tim just grinned and waved his hand in dismissal. It trembled slightly.

"You alright there, Tim?" Tyler asked in concern.

"Huh?" Sniper looked surprised at the question. He glanced at the sky, which was starting to darken. "Yeah. Just tired, I reckon. Been a few bloody awful days. I'm gonna get an early night. See you in the morning, wankers." He turned his back on the group and started to fiddle with the mosquito net over his camp bed.

"Kann ich bitte etwas saubere Kleidung haben?" Erwin asked with a yawn.

"In English, Doc?" Tyler asked.

Medic blinked slowly and thoughtfully. "Clozhes. Ja. I need some clean clozhes. Und eine Dusch...uh, a shower. Ugh, Gott. I feel half dead."

"You've been through hell an'back, laddie," Malcolm said sympathetically. He handed Medic another cup of water. This time, he was able to hold it a shaking hand. "Just wish we could'a' got you all out sooner. Is the dispenser helpin' ye at all?"

"Ja, bestimmt." He yawned and gave another slow blink. "Veillicht...zhe clozhes can vait. I'm going to sleep for a vhile. Zhen I shall...shall..." His eyes dropped shut and his head lolled to the side.

"Erwin?" Malcolm poked him, but just got an annoyed grumbling noise.

"Sleep deprivation is a common interrogation technique," Jacques said quietly. "Let him rest."

"Reckon we could all do with some shut-eye," Tyler remarked. "At least we're a bit safer than we were last night. Night, y'all."

* * *

Jacques stayed up late into the night, looking at the portable gas fire in the middle of the camp. It was not nearly as soothing as an open fire, even if it was a lot safer. He was too tired to think, but too stressed to sleep. Most of all, he really, _really_ needed a cigarette.

He looked over at the sleeping doctor, and his stomach flipped over. Malcolm and Tyler seemed to have a knack when it came to looking after the injured or sick, and had splinted Medic's broken arm as best as they could and settled the deeply sleeping man into some blankets right by the dispenser.

Guilt kicked him hard in the stomach again, and he made a sighing noise that was half a whine. Recently, it seemed his judgement had been completely off in many ways. When he thought about it, his actions had resulted in most of the problems they faced here. He was incompetent. He was useless.

He was a failure.

It was his fault they had got captured. Marcus, by comparison, had launched a daring rescue and had got the three of them out of there. Even without cigarettes, Marcus had been calm, efficient and deadly. Marcus was everything a Spy should be. Right now, Jacques hated his guts.

The gas fire hissed softly, and Jacques stared at the glowing ceramic plates, half hypnotised. Perhaps he could resign from the WPD? Or even from the Institute? He could...walk away, let the world swallow him. Would Katie Pauling allow that?

"...aber ich brauche meine Fingernägel! Das...Oh." Erwin stirred and opened his eyes with a groan. "Scheiße."

"Go back to sleep, Docteur. You need to rest," Jacques said, while his throat tightened with stress. For a moment, he wanted to scream. _Not right now. I cannot handle this right now..._

"Mm." Erwin yawned hugely and hauled himself upright with his one working arm. He looked about for a moment, before spotting a water bottle. Hugging it to his chest, he unscrewed the top and tipped it back, gulping greedily for a few moments. He then looked down at his twisted arm and his unspeakably filthy clothes. "Vell, zhis is a mess." He started to work his shirt off, his movements careful and much slower than normal.

"Do you need assistance?" Jacques asked, swallowed past the painful lump in his throat.

"Hrm, ja. I zhink zhis sleeve vill need cutting off, if you have a knife handy." He gave a sudden mirthful smile that made Jacques shudder. "And you alvays do."

"Of course," Jacques said, quickly getting to his feet and padding over. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. Tired. But better zhan earlier. Zhe dispenser has helped," Erwin said as Jacques cut his filthy shirt off. He sniffed in disapproval as he looked at his bent arm. "Now zhat's disgraceful. Look at zhat angle! Once ve have more sterile conditions, I vill reset it, I zhink." He stood up gingerly, and swayed slightly. He then staggered towards the curtained-off portable shower. There was the rustle of clothing. Jacques was very glad they did not have public military-style showers for once, even if it was for Anna's sake, not his.

"I...owe you an apology, Doct...Erwin," Jacques said hesitantly as the man switched the water on. The electric water pump hummed as Erwin looked back over the modesty panel towards Spy. He blinked and watched Jacques measuringly, waiting for him to continue. "Your recent trials were entirely my fault."

"I zhought it was zhat torturer's fault, actually," Erwin replied logically. He bent down out of sight for a moment, and when he reappeared, his black hair was full of bubbles. "His name was Davi. I presume you killed him?"

"Oh yes," Jacques confirmed.

"Gut. Sehr gut."

"I cannot begin to imagine what you went through..." Jacques continued doggedly.

"Vell, it vas an...interesting experience... but not vone I vant to go zhrough again. It vasn't very pleasant," Erwin replied, rinsing his hair out.

"You found it _interesting_?! Are you completely..." Jacques stopped himself. "Non, never mind that. I wanted to explain. I thought you were the traitor. Because of that, we almost left you behind."

"Do you _still_ zhink I'm a traitor?" Erwin asked.

"No, obviously not," Jacques replied.

"And vhen you all saw zhat, actually, I needed help, you gave it. So, zhat's zhat," Erwin replied simply.

Jacques frowned, trying to figure out what to say next but feeling completely off-balance. He wanted to get shouted and yelled at, maybe even punched. It wasn't that Erwin was being forgiving, he was just placing the blame somewhere else. The man was being far too reasonable, damn him! He should be angry, he should be resentful and feel betrayed, he should... Jacques swallowed down all the thoughts and sat in glum silence for a moment. This whole situation was surreal and he felt completely out of control.

"I, heh, feel I might have underestimated how bad your addiction vas." Erwin continued. "So, perhaps zhis is my fault? Ah...vhat zhe hell. Look in my pack. Zhe pocket in the middle compartment."

Jacques frowned in puzzlement and moved over to look through Medic's pack. Sure enough, there was a little zipped compartment in the middle. Through the cloth, he could feel two small boxes. He breathed out slowly through his nose. _Surely not..._

With a silent reverence, he brought a little white packet of Gitanes out. He held them carefully, as if they would explode if he took a single breath.

"I packed zhem in case your wizhdrawal got too bad. I had already decided to give zhem to you and Marcus vhen ve got back from zhat sortie, but..."

"You had...you had these...all along?" Jacques asked, his hand already scrabbling automatically through his pyjamas for a lighter. Needless to say, there wasn't one there because Jacques was a _Spy_ , not a Pyro. He reached for his draped jacket with shaking fingers and then quickly lit up.

The warm smoke spread into his lungs and seemed to reach right down to his fingertips, bringing comfort and relaxation with it. It was too wonderful to even be cross with Medic for hiding them from him. The feeling of the little stick between his fingers, the smell, the taste...the everything. His eyes closed in bliss.

"As your doctor, I vould recommend cutting down. You do smoke too much," Erwin said with a disapproving sniff that turned into a yawn. "Now, in return for zhat, can you give me some clothes, please? Anyzhing vill do. Zhen I think I vill go back to sleep."

"Before you do..." Jacques took another deep puff of the cigarette before rummaging in Erwin's disorganised pack. He already felt more at peace than he had in days. "I have to ask you something."

"Ja?"

"We are all clones. Copies of our various originals," Jacques said. He hesitated, and took another soothing lungful of smoke before continuing. "The cloning process. Does it ever...glitch?"

"It has been known to," Erwin said, with a nod. "Zhe results are usually...meaty. And don't live long. Fortunately."

"Non, I mean something more subtle. Do the clones ever...vary? In characteristics- strength, stamina, or, or... intelligence. For instance." Jacques handed over a bundle of clothing.

"Odd question," Erwin said, grabbing it and ducking down to pull on fresh underwear and trousers. "Ah, Gott, zhat feels good...Anyvay, no, zhey don't. All zhe clones are completely zhe same, right down to zhe atomic level. Atom placement and movement vectors are perfectly preserved from zhe original."

"Oh." Jacques felt oddly disappointed. "Ah well, thank you docteur."

"Vhy do you ask?" Erwin asked. "Have you been feeling unvell?"

"Only from lack of cigarettes," Jacques replied, smiling weakly. " I think I may be able to sleep a little myself now."

"Gute nacht, Jacques," Erwin said, stepping out from behind the modesty screen and rubbing his wet, curly hair with a yawn. Jacques tried to avoid looking at the burns, cuts and bruises on the man's bare chest. He closed his eyes and turned away, cursing himself for a coward all the while.

The two men lay back down. Jacques felt himself falling softly down into restful sleep when a voice woke him.

"Soddin' hell...Medic?" He heard Tim say in a hoarse voice. There was a rustle of mosquito nets. "I didn't want to disturb ya, but I feel proper rough. I think...there's somethin' wrong."

**In Chapter Ten: The WPD found out what happened to the teleporter...**

_Translations:_

_Ja, bestimmt. - Yes, definitely._

_Veillicht - Maybe_

_aber ich brauche meine Fingernägel! -But I need my fingernails!_


	11. The Final Insult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, there is something super-duper important to note about this chapter: as you know, I am a stickler for accuracy, and the resuscitation technique used here was standard in the 1970's, but is NO LONGER RECOMMENDED. Nowadays, it is recommended that if a person is not breathing, CPR alone is given, rather than CPR and Mouth-to-Mouth resuscitation. I think this is kind of important, yes?
> 
> Now on a lighter note, thanks for all your guesses about who the traitor is. I won't tell you if anyone has got it right or not yet, but keep the guesses coming. You never know, you might be lucky.
> 
> After this chapter, feel free to send the usual threats of violence and demands to alter the story etc.

**The Shadow On The Reef  
**

**Chapter Ten: The Final Insult  
**

_"The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

"Bushman!" Jacques raced over to his friend and clutched at his arm.

"Mein Gott, Sniper, vhy didn't you say somezhing earlier?"

"'Cos you looked even worse than I felt." Tim sat upright on his camp bed and Erwin instantly saw how sick the man was. His face was a yellowish-pale, the bruises on the side of his face from the rifle butt standing out mottled and purple. He was shaking and sweating, and there was an odd sweet smell on his breath. "I thought it was maybe concussion - had that before- but it got worse and worse. Sorry Doc."

"Gottverdammte," Erwin muttered. Sniper was right, of course- he barely even remembered returning to the camp. Still, it annoyed him that he'd not noticed a single thing wrong. He got to his feet, ignoring his aching muscles and dizziness, and grabbed his medical bag with his one working hand. "Go and sit by zhe dispenser, Tim, and zhen tell me your symptoms."

"Well, I got dizzy and tired first," Tim said, staggering over and sitting down hastily on Erwin's ruffled camp bed. "Then I got proper crook. I've chundered a coupla times...maybe more than a couple...there was blood. Now I can see all these sparkles and my head bloody hurts. Hands are kind of tingly an' numb."

"Mmm? What's happening?" Anna asked sleepily, turning onto her side slowly and painfully.

Erwin carefully counted under his breath while holding the man's wrist. 120 beats a minute. He left-handedly unrolled the cuff of the sphyg and placed it on Tim's arm to measure his blood pressure. 110 systolic, 60 diastolic. And Erwin had no medigun, no blood packs, no sterile saline...nothing.

"Fick," Erwin muttered.

"There a problem, fellas?" Tyler said, sitting up.

"Sniper has been poisoned," Erwin said flatly. He started to rummage in his bag and took out some syringes and a couple of vials.

"Bugger it," Tim said, panting for breath. "You mean the food? Well, that's just bloody unfair. I only ate to keep my strength up. I wasn't even hungry, what with all the shit goin' on."

"Oh God..." Anna said softly.

"Those bastards," Malcolm said, sitting up with a groan. "Haven't they done enough tae us?"

"Rggh... scheiß drauf," Erwin muttered as he realised he couldn't possibly prepare syringes for injection with only one hand. "Tyler, hilf mir, bitte. You know how to prepare injections- I need 25 milligrams of pethidine and 1 milligram of haloperidol. Here are zhe vials."

"Sure thing, Doc." Tyler quickly moved and prepared the two injections with the practised ease of a diabetic, handing them back to the Medic. The doctor quickly injected the two chemicals into Sniper's arm.

"Ow. I hate injections." Tim smiled weakly. "So, that'll fix it?"

"Ah...nein," Erwin admitted. "But zhey vill make you feel better. Only time vill heal zhis." Erwin looked down to pack away the vials.

"Yer a bloody awful liar, mate," Tim said quietly.

"This...this cannae be happening," Malcolm said. "It cannae be..."

"I'm sorry," Erwin breathed out through his nose. "If ve vere back home...I vould have a chance at fixing zhis. You need a blood transfusion, tests, intravenous saline, palliative care...but zhis camp..."

"Is completely cut off from the world," Jacques said. Erwin looked over at him. In a very un-Spylike way, he was sat up hugging his knees tightly and staring ahead blankly.

"Ah, Gawd. This is all my fault!" Malcolm wailed. "If I hadn't blown up the medigun..."

"I... Apologies, bushman," Jacques said quietly, still staring into midair. "My actions..."

"Oh, shut up both of you! It doesn't matter who's to blame," Anna snapped, sitting up as straight as she could. "Listen to me, Sniper. This is an order: stay alive. Or I'll get really angry."

"You think I'm just gonna roll over and give up?" Tim asked. A drip of cold sweat trickled down his cheek. He swayed a little before lying down with a groan. "Bugger that!"

"Vizhout proper diagnostic tools, zhe medigun vould be of limited use anyvay," Erwin said, peeling back one of Tim's eyelids and shining a light in his eye. The Sniper hissed in pain as he did so, and Medic frowned earnestly. "Vhat I can promise is zhat... you vill not be in pain. Listen to me, Tim: zhis is not hopeless. I have cured worse. You can fight zhis. Do you understand me?"

"M'not givin' up," Tim repeated faintly, his muscles going slack. "M'not..." His eyes rolled back in their sockets and his head lolled to one side.

"Tim?" Malcolm shook him gently, but there was no response. "Ah, buggering hell."

"Malcolm, turn him onto his side, bitte," Erwin said, standing up and staggering slightly. "Ugh, Gott."

"We'll sort this out, stretch. You see," Tyler murmured, patting the unconscious man on his arm before standing up and letting Malcolm take his place. "Well, I'm gonna work on that radio. No way I can sleep, and we need to get outta here asap."

"Jacques, come over here," Erwin commanded. "I need to examine you too."

"Mm?" Jacques looked up blankly, before blinked and focusing on the doctor. "Why?"

"You had zhe same food as Tim, dummkopf!" Erwin snapped. He blinked and rubbed his forehead. A clammy wave of nausea washed over couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Now the immediate crisis was over, he was having difficulty focusing both his eyes and mind.

"Don't waste your time on me!" Jacques snapped. He stopped and swallowed. "Apologies, docteur. but sure I am not poisoned. It seems I was not worth their time."

"Very vell, I vill...I vill..." Erwin sat down suddenly. Malcolm nudged him and handed him a piece of that white minty stuff he had brought with him. He took it from him with a hand that shook far too much. He bit into it, grimacing slightly at the overly-sweet taste.

"Without you, Doc, we're sunk. So get some rest yourself, " Tyler said sympathetically. "I'll let you know if there's any changes."

* * *

Tyler continued to work through the night, laying out wires across the forest to form as large a net as he could. Normally, he'd prefer the antenna to be high up, but since Sniper was the only one who could climb trees, well...

_Don't think about what should be. Cope with what is._ That was the combat Engineer's mantra. Perhaps he could get the wires some height up with weighted ropes? Worth a go.

He walked back into the camp and clamped the wire onto the radio he had rigged up. The long-wave transmitter should be working now, transmitting a repeating distress call- it was just a question of making a big enough antenna. Tyler had decided to just keep adding to it until he either got a signal, or ran out of wire. At least radios were easy to build- he'd made his first crystal radio when he had been four. He smiled faintly as he remembered putting it to his ear and listening to the faint, tinny jazz music collected from the air, as if by magic. Transmitters like this one were a little more difficult, but it had always amazed Engineer so many people treated it like some miracle that he could do this kind of thing. It wasn't hard, after all...

Tim stirred, making a noise that sounded like a muffled curse word of some sort. Tyler looked at him, feeling his stomach churn as he did so. Erwin had given him some more injections an hour before, but it didn't seem to have helped much. He had woken up now and again, but he was barely conscious now. They had got so used to medical miracles, but... he didn't have to be a Medic to see that the man was fading fast. His face was going a bluish-grey, and his breath rasped in his throat. While the others pretended to sleep, Jacques sat by his side, Sniper's cold hand grasped in his own delicate gloved hands. He held on tight, as if he could prevent reality by force of will and stared ahead blankly, eyes unfocused.

Tyler had seen stares like that before and knew that it meant nothing good. Jacques was breaking apart. Sure, they were all running on spit and adrenaline, trying to survive a situation that just kept getting worse, but Jacques- he was not coping. Oddly enough, Marcus seemed to be faring far better, which confirmed a little theory Tyler had been idly playing with in the back of his mind...

"Jackie?" Tim croaked, his eyes opening.

"Filthy bushman. I am here," Jacques replied, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

"Look up." Tim's bloodshot eyes stared straight up.

"What? What is it?" Jacques asked.

"You ok there, stretch?" Tyler asked. Sniper didn't even seem to notice him.

"Look up," Tim repeated.

Tyler and Jacques both looked up. Through the trees, the sky was getting lighter. Red clouds drifted across an orange sky, framed by a matrix of leaves of all shapes and sizes. A sliver of moon glided above it all, serene and unchanging.

The black silhouette of a bird shot across, calling in the still air.

"S'bloody beautiful, isn't it? So bloody beautiful," Tim whispered. His lips moved into a delighted smile even as his eyes started to glaze over. "I love this place." His head fell back onto the pillow, silent and still.

"Bushman..." Jacques said in a cracked voice. "Tim! Medic! Medic!"

"Ja?" Erwin said sleepily, before jerking awake. He scrabbled upright, reaching for his stethoscope. "Oh...Gott."

"What the hell... ach, bugger it," Malcolm said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The others in the small camp stirred too with various groans and curses.

"Tim, wake up!" Jacques cried. Tyler grabbed the man's shoulders and pulled him away. "He's not breathing. Make him breathe. Damn you, Medic, make him breathe!"

"Engineer, zhe syringes in zhe red bag." Tyler quickly handed one over. Erwin pulled back the blankets and ripped open Sniper's shirt to check his heartbeat. He cursed and grabbed the syringes, jamming all of them into the middle of the man's chest, one at a time. He waited a few seconds, and then thumped the centre of Sniper's sternum with a solid _thwack_ before listening with his stethoscope again. "Gottverdammte. Pass me more of zhem."

"That's...that's the whole lot," Tyler said quietly.

"Gottverdammte," Erwin repeated. He thumped Tim's sternum a second time and listened to his chest again and then gestured at Malcolm with his one working hand. "You. Knit your hands together, place zhem here, and press down hard."

"Yeah I ken what ye want," Malcolm knelt down and knotted his hands together over Sniper's sternum and pressed down quickly.

"Nein, nein! Keep your arms _straight!_ Zhis is not a practice session. Press as hard as you can. Break his ribs if you have to."

Malcolm pursed his lips and made a short, jerking movement down. There was a meaty creaking noise and the Scotsman's face went grey. "Ah, bloody hell," he muttered.

"Keep up a steady rhythm. Faster zhan zhat! Yes...like zhat," Erwin ordered. "Tyler, you know how to give mouzh-to-mouzh resuscitation?"

"Sure do," Tyler placed a pillow under Tim's neck and stretched his slack mouth open. His mouth tasted of blood and sickness, and Engineer struggled not to gag.

"Every five compressions, give him one breazth. Keep zhis up for zhe next five minutes," Erwin ordered. He staggered sideways and sat down hurriedly, cursing under his breath and holding his broken arm to his chest.

"Oh no, no..." Anna said softly. "This is a nightmare."

The camp was silent for a while except for the quiet counting of Malcolm and the hoarse breathing of Jacques. Above, the dawn calls of the birds got louder in the still air. Time passed.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Erwin looked at Tim's blue fingernails and frowned.

Three minutes.

Tyler could see Tim's lips starting to go purple-blue. He was getting dizzy from giving mouth-to-mouth himself and the world was spinning slightly. His mouth tasted bitterly metallic.

Four minutes.

Jacques suddenly got up and started pacing around the camp, prowling its external perimeter, all the while tweaking his suit and clothes as if they itched or displeased him.

Five minutes.

"Stop," Erwin said quietly. "Zhere... zhere is little point continuing now."

"Ah, sod it," Malcolm slumped back in exhaustion, rubbing his sore arms. Tyler sat back on his heels, letting out a long sigh.

"You're giving up? You can't... you can't give up..." Jacques said, turning back and rubbing his arms as if for comfort.

"Jacques, I'm sorry, but he has not revived. Vizhout hospital care, brain damage is almost certain at zhis stage," Erwin said tiredly. "He has been _fatally poisoned_ , Jacques. Neurotoxin, I zhink. At zhis stage, he vill _not recover_."

"You can!" Jacques snapped, his fists curling into tight, shaking balls. "You can...resuscitate him. Damn you, Medic, do your job!"

"Gottverdammte Jacques! I have nozhing to vork wizh here! I have no equipment! _He is beyond my help._ I can keep him breazhing...but he vould not be _alive,_ " Erwin snapped, his voice cracking with exhaustion. He ran his working hand through his hair in frustration and winced as the damaged fingers caught on the curls. "Do you _understand_?"

"He just needs to breathe! That's all..." Jacques said desperately, catching his breath in a choked gulp. "Just...just... oh, oh dieu..."

"C'mon, Jacques. Come away." Tyler grabbed Jacques firmly and hauled him into a tight hug. He could feel the skinny man shaking with emotion. "Sometimes, there ain't nobody that can help."

"Name: Timothy Mundy. Time of death, 6:31am, 22nd July, 1972." Erwin said quietly.

"Rest in peace, bushman," Marcus murmured quietly, getting to his feet and delicately shutting Tim's staring eyes before pulling the blanket over him. Malcolm, his eyes wide and tear-filled, shook his head in disbelief.

"He promised he would fight! He promised! Non, non, ce n'est pas..." Jacques gulped as Tyler steered him firmly onto a hammock to sit down. "Ce n'est pas..."

"Engineer Jed here. Boy am I glad to hear from you fellas!" A tinny voice suddenly broke into the clearing from Tyler's radio. "Sorry about the teleport problem. We had a situation here, but it's under control now. Are you guys ok?"

Everyone froze, turning slowly to look at the radio.

"Not exactly..." Marcus started to say.

"Cut out that suave Spy crap right now unless ye want an eyepatch to match mine," Malcolm snarled, shoving Marcus to one side. "It's nae the time or the place, y'ken?"

"Jed, Anna Pauling here," Anna said calmly. "This mission is a bust. We have one casuality..."

"Two," Malcolm corrected.

"Two? Who's the other... oh, right," Anna cleared her throat in embarrassment. "Two casualties and... and... a fatality. Sniper Tim. Situations's stable right now, but we're low on supplies and need evac as quick as you can manage."

There was a short pause.

"Jesus," Jed's voice said quietly. "We were gonna rebuild from the bottom up but... I'll get all the guys in on this one. We'll get you out of there, double-quick. Maybe we can short circuit the system to get just one long-range teep powered up...anyway, that's my problem, not yours."

"What happened there? Is everyone ok? Were you attacked?" Anna asked.

"Heck no, nothin' so serious," Jed replied. "It was the darndest thing. There was a lightning strike up in Alaska just as the teep was activated up there. Seems the bolt shot through the entire system and fried the whole bang-shoot."

"So...you weren't attacked?" Anna asked in surprise. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Well... yeah, we have a casualty. I think. Seems Heavy Vlad got caught in the blast. Medic Albrecht was with him and...he's a bit fuzzy on the details. Fella just keeps screeching at anyone who asks. Vlad's up in the infirmary now. There's curtains around his bed and Albrecht won't let anyone near him, so I can't tell you more than that. Not sure I wanna know, truth be told. Must be real bad."

"Thanks, Jed. Just...get us out of here, ok?" Anna said.

"We'll get workin' on it right away. Hang in there. Jed out."

The group fell silent except for the gasping noise of Jacques struggling to breathe through a closed-up throat. Tyler eventually broke the silence.

"I got a bottle of bourbon. We bury Tim, and then I'm cracking it open," He said. "I don't need to be sober no more. Don't think I want to be sober ever again."

"Works for me," Malcolm said. "Come on, let's do this. Lassie, Erwin, I reckon you're let off diggin' duties 'cos yer both just too buggered up. C'mon Jacques, stop blubbing and give us a hand."

Jacques turned with a snarl, eyes red and teeth bared. His hand swung around in an open-nailed trajectory towards Malcolm's face. Malcolm's hand grabbed his thin wrist.

"None o' that now, laddie," He said calmly. "Don't do summat ye'll regret later."

The team set about their grim work. Tyler swallowed hard as he dug- he had buried too many good people in his lifetime, wrapped in blankets and dumped into forgotten little corners of the world like this. It had gone beyond heartbreaking into damned tedious sometime ago. Soon enough, Tim was buried in a shallow grave quarter of a mile from the camp, under the shifting canopy of the forest he had loved so much.

The team then trudged back to the camp and sat in silence, passing the bourbon around and getting very drunk. There didn't seem to be much reason to keep guard by this point. Anna had half-heartedly objected to their lack of professionalism at one point, but she'd passed out after the bourbon reached her again. None of them had the energy to really care anymore. Tyler faintly acknowledged they were all in a state of shock right now, but he was just so damn tired...

That was why, at midday, an unexpected visitor walked right into the camp without being noticed.

**In Chapter Eleven: The mission survivors are finally rescued, but will Katie Pauling be sympathetic or not?**

_Translations:_

_scheiß drauf - Fuck it (literally, 'shit it')_

_Non, non, ce n'est pas... ce n'est pas... - No, no, it isn't... it isn't..._


	12. The Flower Of The Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The readership has suddenly leapt up hugely in numbers! I always find this- I think that a lot of people don't bother reading a shorter story, assuming it won't get completed- or maybe they like to marathon it, so they wait until there's more chapters. Either way, hi new people, hope you're enjoying this! The good news is that the entire thing is written already, so it definitely won't peter out into nothingness.
> 
> The song in this chapter can be heard here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqY79y-SCbA>

_"Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys." - Albert Camus_

"Yo, asshats. Hey. Wake up. The awesome metal dude is here, comin' to rescue your sorry asses. Jeez, guys, pay attention!"

A metal finger poked Anna's arm and she startled awake with a wince. The stabbing pain was still there in her chest. She suspected she had some metal in there still, but she hadn't had a chance to ask Erwin about it. Oh god, her head hurt too... she cracked open a crusty eye and then blinked in surprise.

_Great, now I'm seeing things._

"Scoutbot?" She asked.

"The one an' only, come to rescue you!" The purple robot cocked his head on one side. "Why's everyone asleep?"

"How...how did you get here?" She asked, pushing herself upright. "Hey, pass me that bottle, will you?"

"Which one? The water or this empty bourbon...hahah, shit! You all got totalled, didn't you?" Scoutbot made an odd metallic noise that Anna realised was a snort of laughter as he passed the water over. "Jeez, wait 'til I tell Katie..."

" _Don't_ tell Katie," Anna ordered, and then sighed, taking a deep gulp from the bottle "We'll be in enough trouble as it is."

"Fuck no. You know, the guys- they're all worried sick. You shoulda seen it! When Jed got your message, it was like a wasp's nest poked with a stick... Anyway, you asked how I got here." Scoutbot knelt by her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, leaving an oily mark behind. Then he stood back, struck a pose, and flicked his wings out. "Only way to travel!"

There were groans and murmurs as other hungover people woke up.

"Ach, bloody hell...everyone else is seein' this, right?" Malcolm asked.

"How in Sam-Hill did you get here?" Tyler said. "Oh...right, stupid question. Sorry, we're all a bit out of it right now."

"Yeah, I see that," Scoutbot agreed. He looked around the messy camp. "I mean, you all look fucking awful."

"We know," Marcus said quietly. Anna silently handed him the water bottle.

"Right, right..." Scoutbot stood still for a moment, his hands flexing as he looked over the utterly demoralised group. "Anyway, hardhat sent me to, uh, give you some awesome company, o' course, but also to give Tyler this thing." He reached into a metal box attached to his hip and handed over a small circuit board and a note.

Tyler took it and unrolled the note curiously. He gave a short nod. "This here thing's an override encoder. It'll bypass the usual algorithms...huh, they're using a spare teep down in Rio as a repeater to boost signal strength, ain't that a thing..."

"He said you'd know how to patch it in. It ties to a teleporter right in the infirmary. Medic Albrecht is standing by. Just...don't bug him too much. He's real pissy right now. I mean, I _totally_ don't why, it's not like I've seen Vlad or anything. I mean, holy shit. How the fuck did that even happen?! Uh...not that I saw anythin'..."

"Stop talking, Scoutbot," Anna said tiredly.

"Uh, right, right," Scoutbot said distractedly. "Anyway, Engie Jed, he said, it's all set up, it just needed you to do stuff here. Hey, you know what's cool?"

There was just an exhausted silence.

"You guys suck," Scoutbot said, folding his arms sulkily. "I'm tryin' to tell you I'm a frickin' hero here. I can't carry enough kerosene to fly back, so now I'm just as stuck here as you are. Selfless hero, that's me. You should be really impressed."

"Mein Gott, do you _ever_ shut up?" Erwin said, sitting up with a groan. He grabbed some water and downed a couple of pills.

"Jeez, what happened to your arm?! I mean, you're a doc. You know it shouldn't be that shape, right?"

"Rrrgh."

"Ok, ok, I'm shutting up, I'm shutting up."

"Well, fellas, I can get this working. It'll be a bit slower rechargin' than normal." Tyler knelt down and plugged the little circuit board into the dead teleporter. There was a hum, and it spun up to speed until it glowed with a friendly blue light. "Ah, thank the Lord. Now let's get the hell outta here. Ladies first."

"Hey, what have I told you about all that gentlemanly crap?" Anna demanded.

"That if I open another door for you, you'll remove my _other_ hand?" Tyler managed a small smile. "I know that, but you're the most injured, so you go first. Erwin next."

"Oh...right," Anna said, sounding slightly disappointed. She struggled to her feet. "Woah. Ow. Ow. Dizzy. Ok. I'm going. See you back home, guys."

One by one, the group left the camp. Jacques was close to catatonic and had to be practically shoved through by an impatient Scoutbot.

Finally, Tyler stood on his own in the rainforest. He took a deep breath of the moist air and looked about the scattered camp. So much had happened here, most of it bad, some of it horrific. However, they had blown up Carmine's base of operations and source of income. They had bought the Institute some time, and if they were lucky, they had killed Carmine himself.

_With the way our luck has been recently, I wouldn't bet on that._

He squared his shoulders and stepped onto the teleporter.

There was a flash of light, and he found himself surrounded by clamour and shouting in German. The scent of disinfectant stung his nostrils and the light was bright and unforgiving after the dim forest camp.

"Relax, Engineer, everyvone is safe now. _You_ are safe now." He turned and looked at one of the many Medics flocking around him like birds. Firm hands grabbed his arms and steered him into the ward. "Now, lie down on zhis bed. I'm just going to give you an injection. It vill make you feel better."

Before Tyler had any time to reply, he'd been hustled over to a bed and his arm quickly stabbed with a needle. A wave of warmth and sleepiness overcame him, relaxing long-taut muscles and bringing a desperately wanted sense of well-being.

_Well...damn, I guess I needed that._

He passed out.

* * *

For the next couple of days, they were forbidden to leave the infirmary by five or six assorted Medics, all of whom gave them an almost identical talk about 'Delayed shock', 'Odd blood test results' and 'All zhose delightful infectious tropical diseases'. Anna Pauling, did, indeed, have more shrapnel in her chest and had to have it removed, while Erwin had his arm reset and Jacques needed his broken nose properly fixed. With access to the medigun, it was all insultingly easy. On the second day, Albrecht chased all the other Medics out of his infirmary, saying they were interfering with his patients' ability to recover. The mysteriously curtained bed in the corner stayed hidden from view throughout the time they were there. Albrecht occasionally went behind it and talked in a low voice to the patient back there. Tyler presumed it was Vlad.

Tyler found he didn't really want to do anything but lie back and let it all happen. He felt utterly drained and exhausted after everything that had happened. It seemed the others felt the same way because they were all silent except for the occasional short question and answer. In fact, they all slept a great deal- more than Tyler would have expected, really. Malcolm was the one who eventually got them talking. On the second evening, he suddenly started singing in a surprisingly pleasant bass voice.

_"I've heard the lilting, at the yowe-milking,_

_Lassies a-lilting before dawn o' day;_

_But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning;_

_"The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away"._

 

_Dool and wae for the order sent oor lads tae the Border!_

_The English for ance, by guile wan the day,_

_The Flooers o' the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,_

_The pride o' oor land lie cauld in the clay."_

He looked around at the surprised group and shrugged. "It's an auld battle-hymn, for the fallen an' defeated. Seemed about right. Anyway, I'm sick o' sitting in this bloody miserable silence."

"Teach me the words," Jacques suddenly said. Tyler looked at him in surprise. It was the first thing he had said since they had returned. Tyler couldn't help but worry about the man. It was as if something in him had died along with Tim.

"I'll teach ye all," Malcolm said firmly, and coached them through the words and tune, until they all sung it together, in the silent infirmary with only the solemn cries of the gulls outside to accompany them.

Tyler felt he was a pretty bad singer, but he did his best to stay in tune, and as they sung, he realised that Malcolm had got it entirely right. They needed this- a chance to simply be normal humans remembering a fallen friend. The wound of grief was still fresh, but now it had been cleaned and dressed. Maybe, one day, it would heal.

"To our flower of the forest," Jacques said quietly as they finished. "You will never be forgotten."

"Aye, that he won't."

"And we'll bring them who killed him to justice," Tyler said. "If we haven't already."

"Ah reckon they're mince, after I set off those bombs," Malcolm said in satisfaction, "But if they surface again, I'll have their guts fer garters!"

"I better start preparing my innards for your perusal then," Jacques said quietly. "Surely you realise a lot of this.. this _mess_ is my responsibility? My...weakness for nicotine got us captured. My decisions nearly resulted in Erwin being tortured to death. Being captured got Tim..."

"Bloody 'ell, you're way too hard on yerself, show-pony."

The whole group startled and looked around in shock, until Marcus snorted with sour laughter.

"God, Marcus, that was _creepy_. Don't do that," Anna said.

"Being able to impersonate people is my job, remember? My point being," he nodded at Jacques sympathetically, " That you know as well as I do that that is exactly what the filthy bushman would say, if he were here now. Also...I must admit I was profoundly affected by the lack of cigarettes, too."

"Um, Jacques, you do realise I sent you instead of Marcus on that sortie because I noticed he was coughing and you weren't, right?" Anna pointed out. "We needed a Spy out there, and I felt you had a better chance. I just...gambled that you'd not start coughing too. So...it's kind of my fault."

The two Spies turned towards the small woman in surprise. Jacques blinked rapidly.

"No...I did not," He said softly.

"But the thing is: I don't blame myself," Anna continued firmly. "You can end up saying 'This happened, so I did this, and then this bad thing happened, which makes it all my fault'. I mean, I've sent people to their deaths, people who didn't deserve it. I've killed people because they knew too much. You guys all know that. I did it because I _had_ to. Because it was the only thing I could do, right then. I could say 'That was wrong', and yes, it was, but it had to be done. You can only take the path that seems right at the time. So I don't feel guilty for any of it. There's no point."

There was a slightly horrified silence and Anna gave an embarrassed smile. "I sound like a total psychopath, don't I?"

"Only a wee bit," Malcolm said with a grin. "An' anyway, you're our favourite psychopath."

She gave Malcolm a slight smile in reply.

"I don't think I am capable of thinking like that," Jacques admitted. "I envy you."

"Let me in, Medic! I own this building, remember?" A voice barked at the doorway.

"My patients are in a delicate state and not to be disturbed," Albrecht replied flatly. "You may own zhe building, but _I_ rule in zhis room."

"It's been two days, they've had plenty of time to get their lies straight by now," Katie Pauling pointed out, banging the doors open with Albrecht walking rapidly backwards in front of her. "I need to debrief them."

Tyler had always found it fascinating seeing Katie Pauling and Anna Pauling together. They were absolutely identical- and yet, so easy to tell apart. Perhaps it was because Katie was one of the most powerful people not just in Institute, but in the world. It altered everything about her. Anna was capable and efficient, but Katie radiated authority. Albrecht was both taller and stronger than the petite woman, but she could still make him back away.

"If you cause zhem any undue stress, I vill be cross," Albrecht said, his legs hitting Marcus' bed. "You vouldn't like me cross."

"You'd like cross me _even less,_ " Katie pointed out. She stopped and tweaked her glasses. "Look, I'm just here to talk, not take kneecaps, ok? I've got to know what happened, so we can stop it happening again on future missions."

"Rrgh," Albrecht grumbled. "I must know if zheir condition worsens."

"Albrecht, I am right here, you know," Erwin said grumpily. "I _am_ capable of clinical observation. Zhe critical healing has been taken care of. Let's get zhis over vizh."

"There you are then," Katie said. "Albrecht, out." She steered the doctor towards the door

"Ach, du liebe Gott! You are..." The double doors shut firmly.

Katie sat down, her chin cradled in her hand as she looked at them all thoughtfully.

"You all look like hell," She said finally.

"I've heard that a lot lately," Marcus said sourly. "It is an opinion that is starting to bore me."

"Albrecht told me all about the condition you guys were in when you got back here," She continued. "So, let's start with the stuff you'll want to know: I'm giving you all two week's compassionate leave. Take a holiday. Get your heads straight. Do some fun stuff. Erwin, I'm giving you a bonus and a commendation for resisting torture."

"You are?" Erwin blinked in surprise. "I mean, all I did vas not tell zhem anyzhing. It vas a... a... horrible experience, but I vouldn't have said it vas _difficult._ "

"People train for years to be able to resist interrogation," Marcus pointed out. "Perhaps you have a natural gift? Or maybe it's just because you like pain."

"How many times, I don't like..."

"Malcolm, you're getting a commendation too, for destroying the plantation..." Katie interrupted.

"That's good o' ye, lassie, but I dinnae think I deserve it. I also blew up Erwin's medigun, ye ken, and that caused us a boatload o' problems..."

"...And also, a bottle of twenty-five year old Laphroaig, matured in a sherry cask. Tavish said you'd like it."

"... actually, I do deserve this commendation o'yours. Totally do."

"Ok," she gave a short smile. "Now, I need to know exactly what happened, from start to finish. Don't leave anything out."

The group told their story, hesitantly at first, but more surely as it became obvious that Katie wasn't going to kneecap anyone. She nodded solemnly and made notes as they spoke.

The setting sun slanted through the windows as time went on, lighting up the dust motes in the air and turning them into golden glitter. Now and again, Katie made them stop and clarify a point, but mostly she just listened. Finally, Tyler told the last part of the story:

"...so I came through the teleporter, and Medic Albrecht filled me full o' sedatives. And there we have it."

"Hmm." Katie tapped her pen thoughtfully on her clipboard. "I can see that we need to change the way we do some things. A lot of the things that went wrong, like being captured- they can happen in any covert mission. As my... uh, as Bobby and Rick say, 'Shit happens.'. The big mistake seems to have been relying on one piece of equipment too much. We need backups, I think. I'll ask Dell if he has any ideas how we can transport more stuff without breaking people's backs."

Quite a few people in the room let out their breath in relief.

"There's just something that puzzles me," Katie mused.

"What?" Anna asked.

"Erwin, Jacques and Tim got captured. They poisoned Tim, really hurt Erwin, but left Jacques untouched. Why?"

"If you are suggesting I am a collaborator, I..."

"No no, nothing like that," Katie said, holding her hands up placatingly. "It just makes me wonder: why spare him? What was there about him that stopped them hurting him? It's something to think about."

"Hmm," Marcus said thoughtfully."That is odd. Let us treat that as a piece of the jigsaw. Let us hope we find others and complete the picture."

"An' that the finished picture isnae just a sweet little picture of kittens and ribbons," Malcolm added.

"Mon dieu, Malcolm, do you always have to ruin..."

"One final thing," Katie interrupted, briefly walking out before returning. They stared at what she was carrying. "This is right, isn't it? It seems a bit strange, but they say you give people in hospital fruit baskets. I've heard all about it."

"That's mighty kind of you, little lady," Tyler said before anyone else could say anything. "We'll all enjoy it, for sure."

"Ah, good," Katie gave a relieved smile that made her look like a young girl for a moment. "Well, goodnight guys. I'll see if I can get Albrecht to let you out tomorrow."

"Appreciate it, lassie. This place is sendin' me barmy," Malcolm replied. He looked at the fruit basket with a smile. "Thanks for givin' us...that basket. It's right cheered me up."

"Sleep well then." Katie waved and left. The door shut behind us. Tyler shifted awkwardly.

"I didn't have the heart to tell her."

They all looked at the basket. Katie was right- people in hospitals did get fruit baskets, but she had misunderstood the idea. It must have taken her hours to put this particular fruit basket together.

Sitting on the table, wrapped in a neat purple bow, was a basket.

Made out of pieces of fruit carefully glued together.

**In Chapter Twelve: Jacques and Tyler have a conversation that will change Jacques view of the clones forever- and also his life.**


	13. We Are Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's time for some serious hard science. Oh wait, isn't it always time for science? Of course it is! I am willing to bet that some of you will read this, and think 'Huh? He's making this all up, this wasn't what I was taught at school!' All I can suggest is: go and google it. Schools are _still_ teaching the planetary model to their students because they are too stupid to understand it themselves/ can't be arsed /think their students won't understand the truth (the latter is what they tell themselves, at least). Yeah, my opinion of schools and school teachers isn't very high. I left school many years ago, and if anything, hindsight has made me realise the system is even shittier than I thought it was when I was in it. Um, I better stop there before this turns into a rant.
> 
> Anyway...*cough* I'm hoping this chapter might blow a few minds. Or it might make people say 'meh', depending on their level of interest in science. Chaos theory is awesome, by the way, and I strongly recommend looking up some information on it- in particular, the Mandelbrot set is just amazing. Look up 'mandelbrot zoom' on youtube.
> 
> If you want to know more about quantum physics, 'A Brief History of Time' by Stephen Hawking is a good place to start. I used to live around the corner from him, actually, and saw him regularly. I had a friend ask me if I'd get her copy of Brief History signed the next time I saw him, and I replied 'Uhh...no.' Think about it...
> 
> Where was I? Oh yes. Have some story.

_"If quantum mechanics hasn't profoundly shocked you, you haven't understood it yet." - Niels Bohr_

Katie was as good as her word and the group was released the next day, amidst much grumbling from Albrecht. The group parted ways, none of them entirely sure what to do with themselves. The world seemed paused and a little unreal, as if they were in a dream.

Demo Malcolm went off to find Soldier and see if they could get into trouble, while Marcus retired to his room and locked the door. From the acrid smell outside, it seemed he was intending to smoke himself to death.

Anna prowled the corridors, trying to figure out exactly how vacations worked until Malcolm invited her to join him and Soldier in their game of 'Who can make the biggest crater?' The Institute shook with the distant explosions.

Tyler decided to learn more about keeping his new beehive and ended up chasing a swarm through the lobby, apologising the whole time as people scattered out of the way. Living things, he decided, were a lot harder to understand than mechanical ones.

Erwin got hold of a few pieces of wood, and started to build Kepler a new dovecote, occasionally asking Tyler questions about mortise and tenon joints and fixings. Kepler watched eagerly from the doctor's shoulder, making occasional helpful remarks such as 'Coo.'

Jacques sat on the pebble beach and stared out at the sea, subsisting on strong coffee and cigarettes, and tried not to think of anything beyond the movement of the waves. Occasionally, he would toss a pebble and listen to it drop into the water with a plop.

_At least this is a pleasant place to be miserable in._ Although no one blamed him for the failure of the Peru mission, it didn't matter: He blamed himself. Without his incompetence, Erwin would not have suffered, and his best friend would still be alive. _Ah, Tim. I miss your stench and horrible bad habits so much. You kept me sane. You kept me grounded. And now...you are not here._

_And I don't know what to do._

He tossed another pebble into the sea.

_Plop._

He really didn't know what to do with himself. Should he stay, or find a life outside the Institute? A little rational part of his mind reminded him this was just a trauma response, and that life would go on...but right now, that little voice sounded far too blasé and pat. He tossed another stone.

_Plop_.

A second pebble skimmed over his shoulder and skipped across the water, leaping seven times before finally sinking. Jacques looked around in surprise and found Tyler standing behind him with a smile.

"You gotta get a flat stone and spin it just right," He explained.

"I wasn't really trying to skim them," Jacques replied.

"Just as well, I reckon. Here, it's midday, so I brought you somethin' to eat," Tyler handed over a paper bag.

Jacques just raised an eyebrow before looking into the bag. It was a single sandwich, filled with what appeared to be smoked salmon. He blinked.

"My favourite."

"Yeah, I might've done a bit of background research," Tyler said, sitting down next to him with a slight squirm. "Dang, these pebbles are hard on the ass, aren't they?"

"I hadn't noticed," Jacques replied. His stomach felt like a solid, leaden lump, but he bit into the sandwich anyway. It seemed Tyler had put quite a bit of effort into it: the bread was so fresh that the crusts were soft and crispy while the centre was soft and moist, and the salmon had just the right amount of lemon and pepper on it, with a tiny hint of dill.

"I was just wonderin' how you were doin', and I thought I might as well bring lunch while I was at it." He pulled another sandwich out of a bag. "Southern fried chicken. Yeah, predictable I know, but it's so damned delicious. No need to pull that face, it is!"

"This is...very kind of you," Jacques said, swallowing with some difficulty.

"So, how're you doin', Spook?" Tyler took a large bite out of his sandwich.

"Is this just an excuse to lecture me about my excessive ingestion of stimulants?"

"Ah, heck no," Tyler said through a full mouth. He swallowed. "I mean, sure, you're smoking too much and drinkin' too much coffee. But I reckon you know that yourself. Now, if you were still doin' this in a month's time, yeah _, then_ you'd be getting a lecture. But right now... hell, we all cope in our diff'rent ways."

"Most better than I do," Jacques said quietly. He picked up another pebble and flung it viciously into the sea.

"That's just what you think," Tyler replied. "I'm covered in bee stings. Marcus must be damn near suffocatin' himself, he's smoking so much. Anna's lost her hearing in one ear due to all those explosions, and the craziest of all, did you know Erwin sawed his finger off?"

Jacques blinked. "On purpose?"

"Nope. Well...kinda," Tyler gave a crooked smile. "He said he'd got the wood for that dovecote aligned just right, so he kept sawing 'cos he said it had taken him ages to measure it and clamp it in place. What kinda person does that?! Tell you what, though, Albrecht was pissed."

Jacques felt a small smile tugging at his mouth at the thought of one Medic telling off another. "Well that is...entirely in character, I think."

"Erwin's a fun guy," Tyler said with a grin. "Always good company."

"Seriously?"

"Sure! Always good to have another man of science to talk to. Kindred spirits, and all that. He's a good friend."

"How...is he?" Jacques asked, taking another hesitant bite of his sandwich. He had to admit that the solid food was making him feel a bit better, even if eating it seemed far too much effort right now.

Tyler shrugged. "More affected that he lets on, I reckon. I hope he'll be ok."

"Indeed," Jacques said shortly. He frowned in thought for a moment. "Engineer, may I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"We clones...are we truly all made the same?" Jacques asked.

Tyler paused for a moment. "Well, that's an interesting question. Very interesting," He smiled suddenly and chuckled. "Did ya ask Medic?"

"I confess I did."

"...And he said nope, we're all made the same, right?" Tyler prompted.

"From the tone of your voice, you don't agree?"

"Yes and no. From Medic's point of view, he's right: the clones are made the same, right down to the atomic level."

"So, we are all the same," Jacques felt an odd stab of disappointment at that.

"Only down to the atomic level," Tyler pointed out. "But that's not all that matters is it?"

"Isn't it?"

"Heck no," Tyler said, sitting more upright in what Jacques recognised as his 'lecturing' pose. "What do you know about chaos theory and quantum physics?"

"I...know they exist?"

"Ok, well, let's start with the one that's easy to understand: chaos theory. There's a whole lotta strange math and some real pretty patterns, but at its base, chaos theory is about how some stuff reacts in a darned unpredictable way."

"That sounds like most humans I have met," Jacques commented.

"Now you went and put your finger right on it there." Tyler said with an eager nod. "In layman's terms, a chaotic system is one where a tiny change can give huge changes in the result. And see, I reckon humans are a chaotic system. A tiny change causes a massively different outcome. So, we clones, all made the same way, but on different days, in different places, meeting different people...the changes build up an' snowball, and no one can say how it'll affect us. We can only guess."

"Sniper always used to say that the clones started the same, and became different as they lived their own lives..."

"Yeah, he got that right," Tyler said. "So, keep that in your head while I explained the next bit. Now, quantum mechanics plays its part too. Huh, how do I go about explainin' this one to you. Let me think about this..." Tyler paused in thought.

"Are you sure I won't need several years science training to understand this?"

"Heck no, people just like to make out stuff like this is hard 'cos it makes them feel smart." He suddenly snapped his fingers. "I got it. Now, imagine you're flying over a forest."

"I fail to see the relevance," Jacques said. "And forests are not my favourite subject right now."

"Stick with me here. You look down, and the forest, well, it looks like a solid green lump, right? A blanket, spread over the landscape, but a single thing."

"I suppose so."

"Now, you go in closer. Closer and closer, until you're looking at a single leaf," Tyler continued. "That leaf- it don't look or act anythin' like a forest, even though it's what the forest is made of. It follows its own rules- turnin' to face light, photosynthesising, and, well, doing whatever it is plants do. I never was into gardening. Point is, it's completely different to the forest. Different rules, different behaviour- yet all those leaves, together they make the forest."

"I am with you so far."

"Ok, well, that was just a metaphor. The world of matter is like the forest. But we gotta look beyond that, down to the leaves, so to speak. So, when we go down to the subatomic, the rules of the world as we see it break down."

"Apologies, Tyler, but so far I can't see how this is relevant."

"It's all to do with how things work on this subatomic level," Tyler continued patiently. "See, atoms are made of protons, neutrons and electrons, and this is where it gets really weird: electrons don't have a fixed place in time and space, not as such. You can't say 'this electron is right here and going thattaway.' The universe just don't work that way."

"That's not possible! _Everything_ has a place." Jacques complained.

"Like I said, at this level stuff don't act like the world we know. We're beyond and beneath that level of existence. They _aren't_ solid beads of matter. They are what matter is _made of_ , and we have to stop ourselves thinkin' of them as acting like matter. As I said, when it comes to electrons, we mostly describe their position using this mathematical construct called an orbital, unless they're in a metal or a benzine ring and...ah, heck, ignore that, let's stick to basics. So, there's this area around the nucleus of the atom that has a 90% chance of containing an electron. It can be different shapes depending on a whole load of variables, but that don't matter right now."

"But surely there must be some way of pinpointing this electron of yours..."

"Nope," Tyler grinned. "Heisenberg's uncertainty principle kicks in there. That's...well, I'm tryin' to keep it simple here so let's ignore that for now."

"This is your idea of _simple_? Wait, wait," Jacques objected, "I remember this from school- the structure of the atom. It was a nucleus surrounded by circling electrons. The electrons were little balls, not some...mathematical conundrum."

"Ah, the planetary model," Tyler gave a surprisingly wicked grin. "It's a total lie, discredited decades ago. They only teach kids that 'cos the reality is pretty danged insane. I remember correctin' my teacher, back at school. I got detention for 'distracting the class'. God, I was a brat at school. Never paid attention, 'cos I didn't see the point of it all. They said I was dumb as a brick until they started formal testin'."

Jacques shuddered briefly, imagining trying to teach a young Engineer. Tyler saw his reaction and laughed out loud.

"Yeah, exactly what you're thinking! So, it's best to think of electrons as a cloud. The edges are fuzzy and it's hard to say where they stop, but you can still say 'Yep, that's an electron right there.' Most importantly, they're unpredictable. We can only say what they're most likely to do. You with me so far?"

"I think so..." Jacques said uncertainly.

"Ok, this is where it gets bendy: the nervous system in the human body relies on the behaviour of electrons to work. You see where I'm going with this?"

"You mean that...quantum physics makes our bodies work?"

"More'n that." Tyler looked pleased with himself. "Quantum physics makes us _think_. So, we take those electrons in their orbitals, the ones we can't measure, can't predict...and we use them to think. What does that tell us?"

"That I am about to get a crippling headache?" Jacques asked.

"It means that if I made a perfect copy of you, it'd be _physically impossible_ to get it perfect, down on the subatomic level. So, if I copied you, right here and now, and asked both of you 'Heads or Tails?', you wouldn't necessarily pick the same answer," Tyler explained.

"So...we can make choices?" Jacques asked. "And we are not all the same?"

"Yep, and then chaos theory kicks in, and those choices alter us more and more, and the clones diverge more an' more," Tyler explained. "You a religious man at all?"

"Hmm?" Jacques shook himself wondering why Tyler had suddenly mentioned something so removed from this scientific discussion. "Ah...non. It's never been particularly relevant to me."

"None of us here can claim to be good Christian folk, can we? Science disproves a lot of the bible, it's true, but thing is, you want proof of God, you got it right here."

"I'm sorry?"

"God created humans with free will," Tyler said earnestly. "And here, in quantum physics, is that free will. Coded right into the bones of the universe."

Jacques blinked. For a moment, prickles went up his spine. In that moment, he understood why Engineer and Medic loved their science so. Beneath all those tedious facts and figures there was a cold beauty to it Spy had never experienced before.

"Our choices matter, Spy," Tyler said solemnly. "And we _are_ all different. The evidence is right here on the macro scale, too. Just look about! We've all got strengths and weaknesses. Huh, you want an example? Look at our Erwin and compare him to Albrecht. Erwin is calm, efficient, loves his science, bit of an introvert. Albrecht, well, he's..."

"A fussy mother-hen," Jacques finished. "In comparison, at least."

"Good way to put it." Tyler chuckled good naturedly. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. "One last thing for you to think about, though. " He snapped it in two and offered Jacques a piece.

"Thank you...but no," Jacques said, recoiling slightly. He had always found American chocolate tasteless and fatty.

"Take it," Tyler ordered. Jacques took the chocolate with a frown of puzzlement.

"I took that chocolate bar, and snapped it in two," Tyler said. "Now, tell me this: those two bits are just the same. Which of them is the original?"

"Well...neither, obviously."

"Right," Tyler said with an eager nod. "So, which of you Spies is the original?"

"Spy Théo of cour..." Jacques stopped, and blinked rapidly.

"Yeah you got it." Tyler smiled and patted Jacques shoulder before standing up. "Hope I've given you something to think about."

"You have, mon ami," Jacques murmured, "You have."

**In Chapter Thirteen: Jacques decides to act on the information Tyler has given him, and Scoutbot decides to go and interfere where he's not wanted...**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was glad to see that many of you of schooling age are familiar with the orbital model of the atom. I guess your science schooling was better than mine- I only learnt at 17 when I had chosen to study Chemistry at A-level. I'm not sure what the equivalent of that is in the US, but A-levels are highly specialised courses that are taken with a view to studying a set subject at university.
> 
> Anyway, let us continue. It's time for Jacques to make some bad decisions. If you're wondering about Jacques' reaction to Erwin's suggested diagnosis here, remember this is the 70s...

_"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." - Andy Warhol_

After his conversation with Tyler, Jacques had another cup of coffee, but rather than sitting and moping, he took this one to his room and paced back and forth with it cradled in his hands while it cooled. Occasionally, he paused to look out of the window, before getting back to pacing again.

_We are all different. I am not a copy of Théo. I am me._

He had always known it, really. He had a good eye for human behaviour and if he hadn't been told repeatedly that all the clones were the same, he would have figured it out months ago. The problem was that it was obvious to Jacques he was an inferior copy, in so many ways. Surely the others had realised this as well? They must have done. How could they not? Marcus, the perfect example of what a Spy should be, surely had. Hadn't he?

Jacques walked calmly over to his room's window and opened it. A warm breeze curled around him, smelling of the sea. He held his coffee cup over the long drop, and let go.

_Unacceptable._

The plain white cup plummeted down the side of the tall building. By some miracle, it missed the rocky outcrop and splashed into the sea. If he was not good enough, then he had to change. He had to become better. He could feel energy filling him. A new sense of purpose beckoned. He refused to be anything but the best.

_I will never let another person die due to my incompetence. Never._

So. Where to start?

With another coffee?

Jacques carefully made himself a fresh cafetiére of dark roast coffee, and sat back down, drumming his fingers. Now he had to consider his weaknesses, and decide how to conquer them. Perhaps make a list? No- that would be too depressing.

_Let us start with intelligence._ Well, he didn't seem to be lacking there. He considered himself well above average compared with the other mercenaries. Not on Engineer's level, perhaps, but...more than adequate. Although...Marcus had been quicker at drawing conclusions than he had, several times. What could he do about that? _Study. Learn more. Spend some time off-base renewing contacts._

More important was his general feeling of being weaker and less strong than the other Spies. Admittedly, strength was not their forté, but stamina and determination most certainly was, and he was lacking there. He seemed to need more sleep and got tired more easily. So, how did one improve on that? It was a matter of health...

_Oh no..._

That meant medical. Which meant a Medic. _Perhaps I'm not doing so badly after all..._ But no, he knew that was not true. He couldn't go on like this- being mediocre at best, an utter failure at worst. If he had to see a Medic, he had to see a Medic. Clenching his jaw, he decided that he owed Erwin an enjoyable session of poking and prodding him, anyway- it might assuage his sense of guilt over what had happened to the doctor. _Yes. I will go and see Erwin. Right now._

He squared his thin shoulders and took a deep breath before opening the door, and making his way to Erwin's quarters. He guessed that since everyone from the Peru mission was on compassionate leave, he'd be there rather than in his laboratory.

There was the sound of hammering inside as he opened the door and some muttering in German.

"Docteur?"

"Ah, Jacques." The hammering stopped, and Erwin turned around to face him, his black hair salted with wood shavings. Kepler shot down from his shoulder and landed on the floor in front of Jacques, spreading his tail and pacing back and forth with his chest puffed out. "Oh, silly bird! He is not a zhreat. Such a pretty tail! Come here." Erwin knelt down and scooped up the bad tempered dove, stroking the little white head.

"He certainly is striking," Jacques said hesitantly. "The peacock tail is an...interesting addition."

"Ja, it is, isn't it?" Erwin gave one of his slightly-too-keen smiles, and Jacques started to regret coming to see him. "A side project of mine is inserting and activating genomes from different species. It's more complicated zhan you might zhink. Zhe results are stunning aren't zhey?"

"Yes, stunning," Jacques replied faintly.

"I have a few other ideas...but zhat's for anozher day. Geht da drüben, hübscher Vogel," Erwin said, shooing Kepler away and gesturing to a chair. Jacques checked it carefully for any signs of gore or blood, but it seemed fine and he sat down. "It's good to see you. Is zhere somezhing I can do for you?"

"Yes, Erwin, I... Yes, this is more than just a social visit," Jacques admitted. He paused for moment, coming up with a suitable lie that would get what he wanted. "Lately, I have been feeling somewhat...weak and tired. I was wondering what I should do about that?"

"Hmm," Erwin said. He came up the shorter man and quickly grabbed his lower eyelid and pulled it.

"Mon dieu!" Jacques said, resisting the urge to pull away and rip his own eyelids off. "What are you _aghhrrhhhrr..."_ Erwin had moved on and wrench his jaw open. He made a thoughtful noise, and then let go.

"Let me see your hands," He demanded. Jacques paused before peeling his gloves off. "You bite your nails."

"Yes, yes, I know," Jacques said in irritation. Erwin turned his hand this way and that, apparently fascinated by it.

"Is this an examination or a marriage proposal?" Jacques asked.

"Examination," He confirmed, flashing Jacques a quick smile. "It does look like you're a little anaemic. Zhat is somezhing of a puzzle. I am as well, you see. All of us who went to Peru are, according to zhe blood tests. Albrecht and I can't figure out vhy zhat vould be. It's easily treated."

"Wait...you said Albrecht took blood tests and yet you still felt the need to maul me about just now to confirm what you already knew?" Jacques asked.

Erwin just shrugged. "Good medicine is zhe art of observation. Zhankfully, zhe treatment is simple: rest, plenty of red meat and dark leafy greens. A good diet. Now...vhere are zhey..." Erwin turned away from him and started rummaging in a drawer. Jacques leant back against a wall and waited patiently. "Ah!" He threw a bottle at Jacques, who failed to catch it. Erwin raised one of his thin eyebrows at that.

"What is this?" Jacques asked, stooping to pick up the little plastic bottle. "Oh! I assumed it would be more dubious."

"Iron and vitamin B supplement," Erwin explained. "I've been taking zhem myself. Zhey have helped me regain energy after...everyzhing."

"I...suspect I need more help than a healthy diet," Jacques said hesitantly. He picked his glove up and slipped it back on.

"Hmm... It is possible zhat..." Erwin tapped his finger against his lips. "Jacques, sit."

Jacques sat back down slowly and cautiously.

"Has your sleep been disturbed recently?"

"Oddly enough, it has. I think it has something to do with _watching my best friend die_."

"Nein, nein, go back a bit. Has it been disturbed for zhe last monzh or more?"

"Maybe..." Jacques said slowly. "It takes a long while for me to get to sleep, and then I wake up too late."

"How has your appetite been?"

"Normal, I suppose?"

"You suppose?" Erwin leapt on the word like a hawk on a mouse.

"I mean I...do not have the best appetite at any time."

"Have you felt zhe need to smoke more, or use ozher recreational drugs? Caffeine or alcohol, for instance?"

"I...yes, perhaps I have smoked somewhat more than usual," He admitted.

"I'm surprised zhat's even possible," Erwin remarked sarcastically. "Have you noticed any changes in your ability to concentrate? Any problems wizh memory?"

"Yes, I have felt tired and... docteur, where is this line of reasoning headed?" Jacques asked. "If you have an illness in mind, just let me know which organs you wish to remove or mutilate."

"Given your recent behaviour, I am wondering if you have a mild case of clinical depression."

"Depression?" Jacques snapped. "That is ridiculous!"

"Ah, please," Erwin said, holding his hand up. "Depression is as much a physical disorder as a mental one, and a person vizh your...hmm, how can I put zhis... introspective and blame-driven personality... is just zhe sort of person who vould be prone to it. However, it can happen to anyvone. It is a disease and it can be treated."

"By a lobotomy, perhaps?"

"Your medical knowledge is dreadful," Erwin replied with a disapproving sniff. "You need a course of antidepressants. I zhink ve could start vizh imipramine. I'll have to lookup zhe correct dosage..."

"Absolutely not," Jacques said suddenly. "I appreciate your concern, Erwin, but this is not the treatment I am looking for."

"Zhen vhat are you looking for?" Erwin asked.

Jacques paused. _What indeed?_ What else should he have expected, asking the mad doctor for advice? Why had this even seemed like a good idea?

What he said next to Medic was something Jacques always remember. It was the moment that sealed his fate.

"I do not want to be a liability any longer. I want to be the best," Jacques said quietly. "The best Spy. In the Institute. In the _world_. I want an edge."

"Hmm," Erwin said, cocking his head on one side in thought. "Zhat vould be an interesting challenge."

"I was thinking more of an exercise regimen," Jacques said. "And I do _not_ have depression."

"You are zhe best judge of zhat, not me," Erwin said blandly.

"I am not that kind of person," He said with a disapproving sniff.

"As you say," Erwin said calmly. He got to his feet, and Jacques stood up as well. "Vell, it seems I have some planning to do."

"No implanting exotic organs, docteur."

"Vould I do such a thing?" Erwin asked.

"Oui. You would," Jacques replied flatly.

"Vell...yes. But I swear I von't do zhat zhis time."

"What do you mean 'this time'?" Jacques asked, but he got no reply as Erwin shooed him out of the room.

Jacques walked away thoughtfully. Whatever Erwin came up was likely to be utterly horrific, and he was ready to politely refuse. Or possibly even rudely refuse, it necessary.

He strolled back to his room, thinking about the other thing he had mentioned. _Preposterous! To suggest I am depressed!_

He sniffed disapprovingly.

_Ridiculous!  
_

* * *

Scoutbot was bored.

He landed on the roof of the Institute and watched the seagulls fly around him. He didn't like seagulls. Nasty little fuckers. They deliberately crapped on him, he was _sure_ of it.

_Bored. So bored now. Reaaaaally bored._

All the other Scouts were busy doing awesome stuff of some sort, so that meant one thing: It was time to make some trouble. So, who could he go and annoy? So many possibilities...

_Hmm..._

Now _that_ was a good idea! He could go bug someone _and_ do a good deed at the same time! How cool was that? He walked over to the rooftop door and wrenched it open, before hurrying down to Albrecht's infirmary. _Why the hell is he the only Medic who actually does medical stuff round here, anyway? Shouldn't they take turns? Did he, like, get the short straw or some such shit?_

He banged on the door and then shoved it open, striding into the stark white bed-lined room. Albrecht was sat at a desk, tapping a pen on his teeth. He looked up in surprise when the robot entered. He gave a thin and not-particularly welcoming smile.

"Hello, Scoutbot. You're zhe last visitor I vould expect," He said.

"Oh, heh, yeah. If I get sick, I go and see Dell."

"Just as vell. All zhat oil and grease is disgusting," Albrecht replied, wriggling his nose in revulsion. "I'm glad I don't have to deal vizh it. Eh, no offence."

"Wait, wait- you work with blood, puke, and shit, and you think a bit of _grease_ is disgusting?" Scoutbot chortled. "That's just crazy."

"Zhey are useful diagnostic tools. Grease is just grease. Nasty, slippery and hard to clean," Albrecht replied. "So, can I do somezhing for you?"

"Uh, yeah..." Scoutbot looked around curiously. "Hey, where's Vlad? Wasn't he over there?"

Albrecht suddenly gave a frown mixed with sadness. "I've moved him to my own room for his convalescence. He... needs time to adjust to his current condition."

"So, he's getting better? That's cool. You know, loads of the guys wanna know how's he doing."

"He's in a stable condition," Albrecht replied mechanically.

"I bet he has, like, wicked scars," Scoutbot said insistently. "Or is he missing arms and legs or stuff? I mean, there must be a reason why he's hiding like this. Does he look super-gross?"

"He is _not_ hiding!" Albrecht snapped, slamming his hands down on the desk and rising to his feet. "If you are just here to try and gawp at my patients, you can get out."

"Woah, woah, no need to get so defensive, Doc! I mean, I just wanted to see the little guy. He must be bored sick by now!"

A rubber-gloved hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his throat. Albrecht snarled as he yanked the robot closer with surprising strength.

"'Little guy?'" Albrecht hissed.

"Jeez, doc, way to overreact! And yeah, you keep squeezing my neck. Go on, do it. That's real scary for a robot," Scoutbot replied easily. "Cos, you know, you _might_ manage to bend a joint a bit outta place, if you're really strong."

"How did you find out?" Albrecht demanded hoarsely, not letting go. Scoutbot was surprised to see that the man's cheeks were actually starting to redden and his eyes glistened slightly.

"Chill, bro. I've not told anyone," Scoutbot said soothingly. "And yeah, so I found out. I mean, he had a bed by the window and I can fucking _fly_ , right?"

Albrecht let go of him suddenly. Scoutbot wobbled for a moment before gaining his balance.

"I can't _fix_ zhis," Albrecht said quietly, looking away from Scoutbot. "He's my... and I can't _help_ him!"

"I guess he doesn't wanna be seen, right? Big guy like him, made so tiny?" Scoutbot said. "I mean he's, what, six inches tall?"

"Twenty-two centimetres," Albrecht muttered, sitting down suddenly and resting his head in his hands. "Ah, Gott."

"I had this idea. He must be going nuts right now, but, you know, there's some cool stuff you can do when you're real small. Stuff no one else here can do."

"Like?" Albrecht said bleakly.

"Like going flying with me," Scoutbot stated. "I mean, flying is _awesome_! And now he can join me. He'll love it, and it'd be great to... to... have some company. You know."

Albrecht blinked rapidly. He gave a small shaky smile. "I vill ask him. Zhe fresh air vould do him good."

"Yeah he needs to have some fun! I tell you, it'll be so _cool_!" Scoutbot said eagerly. "You go ask him, Doc, and let me know."

"Ja, I vill." Albrecht blinked a few more times, and then cleared his throat, picking up his clipboard again. "I have vork to do right now, but...danke, Scoutbot."

"Hey, no problem," Scoutbot replied. "See ya soon."

The robot waved goodbye and walked out, speeding up into a run as he entered the corridor. As he raced along, he decided he'd have to get hold of the other Scouts and see if any of them had any Ant-Man comics they could share...

**In Chapter Fourteen: Erwin has an idea about how to help Jacques- but should he accept it?**


	15. The Viral Octopus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll be able to upload this ok, since I'm currently sitting in a tent in the middle of a field. It is, however, a field with wifi. As a keen naturalist, I can tell you that this is an unusual feature for a field. Let's see if my tablet lets me do this.
> 
> I've had a few people ask if they can write their own fan-fanfics or artwork etc. If anyone wishes to, be my guest! You don't need permission- I consider this a creative commons type of work. Or whatever you call it. I'm not very good on legal stuff. Needless to say, I'd love to see what you come up with, but don't feel the need to ask first. Go nuts!

 

 

_"Every decision is liberating, even if it leads to disaster. Otherwise, why do so many people walk upright and with open eyes into their misfortune?" -Elias Canetti_

_"Spy Jacques,_

_Further to our earlier conversation, I have an idea I'd like to discuss with you. I think you may find it interesting._

_Please meet me in my lab._

_Erwin."_

Jacques read the note and then carefully rolled it into a neat little cylinder, tapping it between his fingers. He idly reached for his lighter before his fingers remembered that this was a note, not a cigarette. _Hmm. Perhaps I do need to smoke a little less..._

He tapped his fingers on the desk instead, trying to straighten out his thoughts. Erwin had probably come up with something utterly horrific he wanted to try out. Was it even worth him finding out? What if Medic decided to drug him, strap him down to a gurney and start slicing? No, that was unworthy. Well, mostly unworthy. Medics generally didn't perform their experiments without some sort of consent, even if their explanations of what they were going to attempt were either hideously in-depth or disturbingly vague.

Which would it be this time?

The problem was that Jacques was a Spy, and therefore, nosy. He wanted to know what Erwin had planned, and to do that...

_Merde_.

...Meant he would have to go down to Erwin's lab.

_So be it_. Jacques reasoned. _I can always say 'no'._

He sauntered down from his room to Erwin's third-floor lab. He was just going to see what crazy idea Erwin had come up with. Nothing more. It wasn't as if he was going to 'yes'.

_Even if his crazy ideas do usually work..._

He pushed the double doors open cautiously. The first thing he noticed was the odd smell of seaweed, followed by a bubbling noise.

"Docteur?"

"Ah, mein Freund! Come in!"

Jacques entered cautiously. Erwin was standing next to what looked to be a tank of water with a pile of sandy rocks in the bottom of it.

"Sniper Lawrence caught zhis little beast for me. Isn't he amazing?" Erwin said proudly.

"I am just inquiring to make sure..." Jacques said, walking slowly up to the tank, "But I am looking at a pile of rocks, oui?"

"Not at all! Watch zhis." Erwin held out a dead crab and dropped it into the water. It started to slowly sink.

"You brought me here to see a pile of rocks and a dead crab? What is..." Jacques stopped, his mouth staying open in shock. One of the rocks suddenly uncurled, changing colour into a striped orange. Tendrils lashed out and grabbed the dead crab, coiling around it until it had vanished into the writhing tentacles. Bands of white and black ran down its body, as if clouds were passing overhead, and then the skin smoothed and lost its spikes. "What _is_ that thing? It looks like an octopus, but what did you do to it?!"

"Zhis is a miracle of nature," Erwin said proudly. "It's an octopus, and zhis is vhat zhey do."

"You... didn't alter it?" Jacques asked in astonishment. The thing in the tank spat out a few pieces of crab carapace and then settled back on the tank floor, becoming sandy coloured and spiky again.

"Not at all. All cephalopoda can do zhis. Zhe chromatophores in zhe skin expand and contract to alter zhe amount of colouration. It's controlled by zhe nervous system and, as you can see, is far quicker and more reactive zhan a chameleon's colour changes, for example."

"But...its skin went smooth, and then rough," Jacques pointed out.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Erwin said happily. He tapped the glass and the octopus briefly went orange and smooth before turning back into a rock. "Zhe skin can also change shape due to zhe unusually complex musculature attached to zhe dermis."

"I admit that is truly remarkable," Jacques admitted. "So, is this your new pet? Kepler will not be pleased."

"Ach, nein, zhey do not make good pets. Zhey are not really very friendly, and zhey bite," Erwin said, although he looked fairly sorrowful to Spy. "Vhat I vanted you to see vas how vell zhis zhing hides. It's almost like it...cloaks, ja? Zhe perfect disguise."

"Huh," Jacques said with a snort. "It would make an excellent Spy."

Erwin replied with a simple nod, letting Jacques figure out the rest.

"Are...you suggesting what I think you are?"

"Zhat depends. If you're zhinking 'I vant my skin to do zhat', zhen yes," Erwin replied eagerly.

"You can do that?" Jacques asked in astonishment. He had meant to say 'No, of course I wasn't thinking that', but curiosity had overtaken him.

"I vould say it's simple, but it's not," Erwin said happily. "I can reverse engineer a retrovirus to inject parts of zhe cuttlefish genome into your DNA, and zhen use zhis new altered medigun I designed to activate zhe new sequences and make zhem express."

"Wait- did you just say 'virus' in there somewhere?" Jacques asked cautiously, while a little voice whispered in his head: _You've still not said 'no'._

"Ah yes, but it's not virulent or pathogenic. Vell, not very." Erwin explained. "I predict it vould cause a few days of flu-like symptoms and, heh, itchy skin, of course."

"You do realise we are not supposed to be working right now, I assume?" Jacques asked. _Where's that 'no'?_

"Yes, I know, but..." Erwin sighed and rubbed his forehead, all his eagerness suddenly gone. Jacques couldn't help but notice that most of his fingernails were missing. "I finished Kepler's new home, and...I didn't know vhat to do next. I couldn't...just do nozhing. I have to keep busy, or...or..."

"You find yourself thinking," Jacques finished softly. "I think we all went through our personal hells back there. Especially you."

"Yes, vell." Erwin cleared his throat and straightened up. "Let us look forward, not back."

"I wish there was more I could have done to prevent it all," Jacques said, more to himself than to Erwin.

"Ve all made mistakes in Peru."

"Really?" Jacques said bitterly. "What mistakes did you make?"

Erwin blinked before smiling crookedly. "Insisting on joining you and Tim on zhat sortie? Zhat was a pretty big mistake on my part, don't you zhink?"

Jacques looked at him and started laughing. It was a helpless, sobbing laugh that held as much hopelessness as mirth, and Erwin quickly joined in. They laughed and laughed, until tears ran from their eyes and they were leaning against each other for support. Hysteria, shock and days of tension just bubbled out of them both in that moment, and they simply could not stop, even when the laughter got dangerously close to being open sobbing. Jacques screwed his eyes shut to try and stop the snorting laughter, finally taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds to force the giggles away.

"Bordel..." Jacques said in a choked voice.

"Ah, Gott," Erwin said, panting for breath and wiping his eyes. "Zhis is insane. Just...don't look at me."

"I sometimes wonder if I am still sane," Jacques admitted quietly, forcing down a final girlish giggle. He sat down suddenly, feeling light-headed. In that moment of laughter, it felt like something inside his mind had finally broken. It brought an odd feeling of relief and freedom.

"Ah, my friend," Erwin said, sitting down next to him with a sigh. "I vould say you are vone of zhe sanest people in zhe Institute. And let me tell you zhis: Sanity is a curse."

Jacques shook his head sadly. He had always been proud of his reputation for being level-headed and calm in a crisis, but it had taken one hell of a battering in the last week.

He knew who was calm and confident when everything went wrong: Marcus. He was a proper Spy. No one had said Jacques was useless, and no one had compared them openly, but Jacques knew the truth. He was no Spy. Not any more. Perhaps he never had been one, in truth?

He thought back to Tyler with his two pieces of chocolate bar. Did he really want to be the best Spy? Truly?

Or was his real wish to be _different_? To stand out in a place where everyone was the same? To be _unique_? To have abilities no other human had ever had?

"How long will you need to prepare?" A voice said, and Jacques realised it was his.

"Hmm...two days?" Erwin said. "Replicating zhe retrovirus in sufficient amounts for it to form a sufficient viral load is quite..."

"I...am... your idea intrigues me," Jacques said. "I can see it has its advantages."

"Shall ve do zhis, zhen?" Erwin asked eagerly. "Are you ready to become a miracle of science?"

Before Jacques even had time to consciously consider it, he had already nodded. Something deep in his soul wanted this. Perhaps for himself, perhaps as some sort of penance for what he'd done to Erwin- an apology of sorts. Perhaps it could be a new start, a chance to put the past behind him?

"Yes..." He said slowly. "Do it."

"Oh!" Erwin actually looked surprised, his long face growing even longer. "Excellent! I vill start you on a course of immunosuppressants now, zhen begin zhe treatment. Now, vhere did I put zhe Azathioprine...ah, here it is. Take zhis twice a day for zhe next two days, and avoid anyvone vizh any kind of illness like the plague, heh."

Jacques gave a small polite laugh. "Can I..."

"Yes, you can still smoke," Erwin said rolling his eyes. "Let me know if you get any side effects, and I'll see you in two days. I'll prepare a bed for you here, since you vill need constant monitoring during zhe procedure."

"Very well," Jacques said, getting to his feet and carefully brushing his suit down. He headed towards the door.

"Er, Jacques?" Erwin called after him.

"Yes, docteur?"

"If you vish to see me before zhen...just come and find me," Erwin said. Jacques looked back, and Erwin looked away hurriedly. "For any reason. Even just for a... ja, for any reason."

Jacques blinked, his hand clenching on the door handle. "I will, Erwin."

* * *

 

_August 10th 1972_

_Subject J is a human Caucasian male, height 184cm, weight 64kg, age 42. J is a heavy smoker and moderate drinker. Subject is otherwise in good health._

_Subject J was given 320mg of azathioprine intravenously. Epithelial cells were removed from a small specimen of Octopus vulgaris. The DNA was extracted by grinding down the cells in a sterile mortar and pestle under liquid nitrogen. Fine sterile sand was added as for abrasion and removed via centrifugation._

_The extracted DNA was then fused with a lab-bred strain of Variola major (strain ME56) using the Genome Exchange Medigun Attachment (see document PIBMErw45 for details).Strain ME56 was chosen for its reduced virulence and particularly pronounced epidermal lesions. The researcher gave the new virus the name ME56ceph1._

_Virus was replicated in a sample of cloned mucous membrane kept at 37°C in a sterile isotonic saline solution bath._

* * *

 

In the next couple of days, Jacques realised he felt far happier than he had done. A great burden was lifted. He found himself looking forward to the procedure, which was highly unusual for anyone facing a Medic's meddling.

He made a special effort to eat more than he had been doing, although his stomach was still in an uproar. It seemed sensible to be as fit and healthy as possible before he was...transformed. The thought of it made excitement tingle down his spine.

Tyler and Malcolm both visited him often with offers of either time to talk, a bottle of something alcoholic, or both. Even Anna popped by and, as always, he insisted he was fine. They never believed him but really, it was the truth. He really was fine. Better than he had been for a long while.

* * *

 

_August 11th, 1972_

_Subject J was given 192mg of azathioprine intravenously. J seems to be tolerating the medication well, with no reported side effects. Subject was encouraged to limit his smoking. His reply was in French, but the researcher caught the words 'Freezes' and 'Hell'._

_Samples of ME56ceph1 were removed from the saline bath and frozen for long term storage._

* * *

 

Jacques wondered whether he should let anyone else know what he and Erwin were planning, but he remembered that they were supposed to be on vacation, not working. Although, thinking about it, Jacques wasn't working, was he? However, Erwin definitely was, and Jacques refused to get the doctor into any more trouble. He had caused the man enough suffering as it was.

The night before the procedure was due to start, he retired to his room early with a good book and a glass of whiskey. He found himself wondering what Sniper Tim would have thought of this. He'd understand, surely. He must have known, as everyone else did, that Jacques had to change. He'd never said anything. Jacques snorted into his whiskey. It was odd, but for such a rude, uncouth man, the filthy bushman could be quite sensitive and polite in his own way.

Anyway, he had to change, for Tim's sake. It was Jacques' own actions that had led to his death. He could never let that happen again.

It never occurred to him that what Tim actually would have said was: _You bloody idiot, what the buggering hell do you think you're doing? Have you gone totally doolally?_

Jacques got moderately drunk and went to bed and slept deeply. He woke up feeling mildly hungover, drank a glass of water, lit up a cigarette and headed down to Erwin's lab.

It was time for everything to change.

**In Chapter Fifteen: Erwin's procedure begins. So far, so good...?**


	16. Presentation of Clinical Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for more science! Did you know that using viruses to insert new DNA sequences is a real thing? I didn't just make it up. It's been done and actually works. It's the basis of gene therapy, although some new and exciting techniques are coming that might supercede it.
> 
> As some of you may have gathered, science is my bro. I used to work in a lab, in fact, and I own the classic white scientist's coat (actually, I've had a few. I kept one for old time's sake- the one that wasn't covered in dangerous chemicals/biohazardous materials/radioactive isotopes). The lab I worked in was a class II containment lab- which meant there were some pretty nasty little beasts in there, such as Salmonella and Listeria. Occasionally there would be the sound of glass smashing followed by 'Was that genetically modified?!'.
> 
> I once accidentally made my left arm radioactive, in fact. I did the mature thing and chased my friends about the lab, lunging at them with my left hand and saying 'Boogah boogah!'. I did go through decon...eventually.
> 
> I am starting to suspect Medic and I could get on rather too well...
> 
> Anyway, let's have some more story. Hello to my new readers! I've noticed I've had quite a few people join us in the last two chapters, so thanks for taking your time to read my nonsense.

_"Medicine is the restoration of discordant elements; sickness is the discord of the elements infused into the living body." -Leonardo da Vinci_

"Ah, Jacques!" Erwin said, giving a slightly-too-wide smile. "Good to see you. I've got everyzhing ready."

"Docteur," Jacques replied, giving a slight smile.

"Come in, come and see!" Erwin grabbed his arm and pulled him inside eagerly, too excited to notice his instinctive resistance to being manhandled. "I have everyzhing ready for you. I realised you vould have to stay here a few days and I vanted you to be comfortable, so..."

Jacques felt himself be unceremoniously pulled into Medic's lab. He had forgotten the way the doctor got annoyingly grabby and touchy-feely when he was excited. Right now, though, he had to be polite and go along with it. He was steered behind some medical screens, and his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.

There was a freshly made bed facing the large window, with crisp cotton sheets. Sunlight-flecked water glittered outside the glass panes. There was a glass bowl of fruit next to the bed, and an ashtray (Spy was relieved to see that). To the left was a small table with two chairs. Another table had a colour television sat on top of it. There was even a well-stocked bookcase and a few games stacked to one side. An elegant glass vase on the table held a few white and yellow tulips. He couldn't help but stare at them.

"Why, docteur," He said wryly, "I did not realise you had a date. Should I come back later?"

"Ah, is zhis not suitable? I can change it..."

"Non, non, its fine," Jacques assured him. "I was simply expecting something a little more...clinical."

"My equipment is all here," Erwin said earnestly. "I can bring it in or remove it as needed. So, are you ready to begin zhe procedure?"

"I...suppose I am." Jacques swallowed. This was it- the point of no return. He reminded himself that he had no reason to back out now. "Do it."

"Excellent!" Erwin bustled out and returned with a steel tray. He put it on the table with a clatter. "Zhe first step is quite simple. Can you see zhe small spray bottle? Spray zhat in your mouth, bitte. Try to hit zhe back of your zhroat."

"Just that?" Jacques asked. "No...large needles or bleeding incisions?"

"Nein," Erwin said, with a hint of regret in his voice. "No surgery is needed at all."

Jacques picked up the little bottle. His normally steady hands trembled a little. He gave a slight smile. "Will this also give me fresh breath?"

Erwin chuckled and shook his head but looked on expectantly. Jacques took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and pressed the plunger. A spray of salty, slightly bitter liquid hit his throat. There was a slight aftertaste of rotten meat.

_No going back now._

He did it again.

"Use up zhe entire bottle," Erwin said encouragingly. "It's only ten millilitres."

"Zhis tastes terrible," Jacques complained. He squirted some more in his mouth and gagged slightly. "Can I not just drink it? It would be quicker."

"Ah, nein. It has to be in contact vizh zhe mucous membranes. You can spray it up your nose if you prefer, I have a modified bottle here..."

"No!" Jacques cleared his throat. The taste and smell of the stuff seem to permeate through his entire skull. He squirted it again. "Mon dieu. Do you have any mouthwash?"

"Yes, but you can't use it. It vill kill zhe virus."

"You said it was some sort of modified virus." Jacques gave the bottle one last squirt and sneezed. "What is it? The common cold, I presume?" He handed over the small bottle.

"Excellent," Erwin said, inspecting the empty bottle. "No, not the common cold- it mutates too easily. I needed a retrovirus, so I used Variola major."

"Which is...?" Jacques prompted.

"Smallpox," Erwin said unconcernedly, placing the bottle into a biohazard bin and washing his hands thoroughly. "It is highly active in zhe skin layers and alters zhe genome, vhich makes it perfect for..."

"Smallpox?!" Jacques leapt up in alarm. "You have given me smallpox? Putain de bordel!" Jacques started to run towards the door before Erwin yanked him back.

"Come back, you could be infectious!" He said, holding Jacques' collar firmly. "Zhis virus is _extremely_ modified. Zhis is not some murderous pathogen- it is a vork of art! It is only similar to smallpox in zhe same sense as an iron bar is zhe same as one of Engineer's sentries."

"Both an iron bar and a sentry can kill people, with varying levels of finesse," Jacques pointed out. He sat down with a sigh and rubbed a hand over his forehead. His mouth still tasted like old meat. "Mon dieu, why did I let you do this to me?"

"Come now, zhis is science," Medic replied seriously. "Zhis is not a good time for cold feet. Zhe virus I used is highly engineered. It vill _not_ kill you. It...may not even be capable of infecting you. Keeping pathogens virulent in a lab environment is hard vork. Even if you develop severe symptoms- vhich I doubt- zhe medigun is entirely capable of keeping you alive until your immune system fights off zhe infection. You are in no danger, Jacques."

"Mon dieu," Jacques repeated.

"Keep your eye on zhe prize, Spy," Erwin said sternly. "You will be able to camouflage at vill, no need for disguise kits. You vill be a miracle of medicine and zhe best Spy in zhe Institute. Let zhe ozhers rely on their little toys- you vill be a natural. You vill be zhe Ubermensch." Medic's eyes glittered with glee behind his glasses.

"You have never read Nietzsche, have you?" Jacques replied sourly. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Docteur, you are right. I did agree to this. I am just... somewhat disconcerted by your methods."

"I did tell you zhat it vould involve a viral infection," Erwin pointed out.

"You did, you did," Jacques admitted. "So, what happens now?"

"Vell, first of all, you do not leave zhis room until I say you can," Erwin replied. "You are zhe carrier of an infectious agent, after all. I don't vant to spread it to zhe entire Institute- and you don't eizher." He grinned.

"Ah, you mean everyone would then have the same abilities?"

"Exactly. You don't want zhat, ja?"

"No, it would defeat the purpose," Jacques agreed. "But what I mean is, what happens to me now?"

"Ah, yes," Erwin cleared his throat. "Zhe immunosuppressants vill cause symptoms to present more quickly. I am expecting you to develop a fever later today, followed by muscle aches. Tomorrow, you should start getting a rash. After zhat has covered zhe majority of your skin, ve can use my medigun to stabilise your altered genome. Zhen ve should enter a convalescence phase, vhere you learn to use your new ability."

"Sounds wonderful," Jacques said drily. "So, now all I have to do is wait until I feel very ill."

"Unfortunately, a lot of medicine still involves unpleasant physical sensations," Erwin agreed. He sat down and tapped his fingers, apparently already bored with waiting.

"While we wait, perhaps I should familiarise you with the works of Nietzsche," Jacques suggested. He shrugged and smiled. "I am no expert philosopher, but his works are certainly...interesting. And your understand of them leaves something to be desired."

Erwin looked up slowly and smiled. "Ja, I vould like zhat."

* * *

_August 12th, 1972_

_Subject J received a dosage of 10ml ME56ceph1 saline suspension at 09:16. A blood test was taken that showed J was slightly dehydrated and mildly hypoglycaemic. Subject was given treatment for this (200ml orange juice).50ml of blood was kept under liquid nitrogen for future use (see addendum J720812a)._

_Subject remained in good spirits throughout the first day. The first signs of infection presented at 22:21, when Subject J developed a raised temperature and myalgia..._

* * *

"Ah, let me see if I understand zhis..." Erwin said slowly. "My cards are not better zhan yours, but I have to convince you zhey are so I can win?"

"Yes," Jacques slowly, "But now you've said that, I know you are bluffing. As I said before, it is _vital_ you don't tell me your cards are poor."

"But zhey _are_ poor! I have two fours. I can't vin vizh zhat. It's not logical," Erwin replied.

"This game is about manipulating other people's emotions, not the cards," Jacques explained, pulling his jacket closer around him in the chilly room. "That is why it's fascinating and enjoyable, non?"

Erwin gave him a blank look.

"There are some large gaps in your education, Docteur," Jacques said with a chuckle. "Were you ever taught anything other than vivisection?"

"Of course I vas!" Erwin said indignantly. "I have also performed many post mortems."

"Ah, forgive me," Jacques said, putting a hand on his chest dramatically. "I see I was entirely wrong."

"Coo?" Kepler fluttered down from the privacy screen and landed on Erwin's shoulder.

"Should your...little pet be in a medical lab, docteur?"

"Oh, it's alright, he doesn't mind," Erwin said unconcernedly.

Jacques just snorted and shook his head ruefully.

Maybe it was the wine, but Jacques was finding Erwin surprisingly good company, in an odd way. Obviously, Spy had worked with Medic many times, but had never really sought a friendship with the man. At most, he had been professionally pleasant. It was important that they could to work effectively together, after all. He knew he had admirable qualities, such as determination and intelligence, but then, gorillas were also determined and intelligent and he had never had any particular wish to be friends with them, either.

However, Jacques realised Medic had two oddly charming qualities. First, he had such a passion for learning it burned like a fire. His face lit up with wonder when he explained to Jacques how viruses worked (Jacques had switched off somewhere around the word 'transcriptase', but the man's mannerisms and his expression of awe were fascinating). Jacques would freely admit that passionate people drew him like a flame. He was French, after all. Passion was their national pastime.

Secondly, Erwin had an odd, child-like approach to the world. There was so much about it he had either ignored or failed to understand. People, for instance, were a closed book to him. Or at least, Jacques corrected himself, people's _minds_. He was, after all, very familiar with their innards. It was their emotions and motivations that he struggled with, and Jacques suspected he did not even realised what problems it caused him. Jacques founds himself wanting to educate the doctor and fill in those gaps.

"Perhaps we should try a different game," Jacques suggested. "Have you ever played Vingt-et-un? Oh, apologies- you would know it as 'Blackjack'."

"Is it more logical?" Erwin asked warily.

"Oh yes. It is a study of probabilities," Jacques explained, picking up the cards and shuffling them.

"Ah! I know more about zhat," Erwin said confidently.

"I think you may enjoy it," Jacques shivered suddenly in the cold room and dropped some of the cards before picking them up again.

"Vait- do you feel cold?"

"Oui. This is a rather cold room, isn't it?" Jacques replied, pulling his jacket tighter.

"No, it isn't. Ve're in zhe tropics." Erwin smiled in sudden excitement. "I zhink you are developing a fever." He stood up suddenly and grabbed a thermometer from a nearby shelf.

"But I feel cold, not warm," Jacques protested.

"Dummkopf," Erwin said, rolling his eyes. "Shivering shows your body temperature is _rising_ , not falling. How do so many people know so little about their own biology?"

"I find it more useful to know about poker," Jacques replied with a smile. "It has certainly earned me more money." _And cheerfully losing a game is a good way to appear safe, trustworthy and slightly dim_ , he added to himself.

"Hrm. Open your mouth, bitte." Erwin held out a thermometer. Jacques rolled his eyes, but accepted it into his mouth. It was cold and tasted bitterly clinical. "I hope you have a raised body temperature. It is a good sign. Any ozher symptoms?"

"Urr?"

"Oh, ja, good point," Erwin agreed. He looked at his watch. "Hrm. Thirty-eight degrees. Excellent!"

"One degree up?" Jacques asked, and Medic nodded.

"Any ozher symptoms?"

Jacques started to shake his head, but it made the world shift and spin. His head and neck ached. "Apparently," he admitted, "I seem to be somewhat light-headed and my neck is sore."

Erwin laughed and clapped. "It's vorking! Gut! Sehr gut! I zhink you better not drink any more wine now, and perhaps consider an early night."

Jacques breathed out slowly. He realised just how far he had gone, and that there was no turning back now. In a rush, this whole experiment suddenly felt real and he wondered if he had made the right choice. _Too late for regrets- and what would you have to go back to?_ He remembered Tim, dying in agony in the forest, far away from home. He remembered the despair. He straightened up.

"I think I could stand another few rounds of cards before I retire." He dealt them each a card with shaking hands. "The idea of this game is to score less than or equal to twenty-one. Over twenty one, and you lose..." Jacques quickly outlined the rules for Blackjack and dealt them both a hand. He dealt them both two cards. Jacques had the eight of clubs and the nine of hearts, while Erwin received the ace of spades and the three of hearts.

"Scheiße! You fixed zhat."

"I have done in the past, but I assure you, I did not this time," Jacques said with a smile. "Now, I have a score of seventeen here, while your score can be either fourteen- if you count the ace as an eleven- or four, if you choose to count it as a one."

"Hrm. So, vhich is it? A one or an eleven?" Erwin asked, his brow furrowed. "It can't be bozh."

"It is whichever you wish it to be," Jacques replied. Erwin still looked puzzled, when Jacques remembered his earlier conversation with Tyler. He had an idea. "It can be both- like an electron."

"Ah! So, it is bozh until measured. Zhat makes sense," He frowned suddenly. "Vhen did you learn about quantum zheory?"

"Tyler and I discussed it once. I admit I found it hard to understand."

"Zhe human mind is not designed to understand it," Erwin agreed. "So...At zhe moment I am losing. I...ask for anozher card?"

Jacques dealt him the ten of spades.

"Zhat's a ten. So, now I eizher have twenty-four, vhich loses, or fifteen."

"I think I shall have another card too. This is somewhat risky, since there is a high chance I will get over twenty-one." Jacques dealt himself another card. King of hearts. "Ah, merde!"

"I vin?" Erwin said with a grin. "I've heard about zhis. You let me win zhe first few hands, zhen ve start betting for money and I suddenly lose."

"Why, docteur, it sounds like you have lost to card-sharps before now," Jacques said with a smile, grabbing the cards and shuffling them expertly. His hands suddenly shook and the cards scattered across the table. Jacques got to his feet to pick up some of the cards that had fallen on the floor. He bent down and winced with sudden pain as he tried to reach the cheap linoleum tiles. He staggered sideways and Erwin caught him and held him upright in firm hands.

"Time for bed," Erwin ordered, steering him towards the gurney. He practically shoved Jacques onto the bed and then threw a hospital gown at him. Jacques held it up in disgust.

"You think I am going to wear this abomination?"

"Ja, I razher zhink you are," Erwin replied. "You have worn zhem before."

"Under duress."

"Hrm," Erwin muttered thoughtfully. "You can eizher put it on, or I can explain to you in technical terms exactly vhy I insist upon it. At length."

Jacques made a low grumbling noise. "Turn your back." He grabbed the gown. The blasted thing was backless, of course. No dignity for Medic's patients. Stretching to put the wretched thing on turned out more difficult than he expected, and he felt oddly weak as well as achy. Tying the annoying ribbons at the back made him grit his teeth as his muscles objected, but he managed it and dived into the bed before Erwin could see him wearing such a ridiculous garment.

"I have freshly laundered silk pyjamas I could have worn," Jacques said, drawing the covers up to ward off the cold.

"Zhey can't be autoclaved," Erwin said mildly. He handed him a bottle of pills. "Anyvay, zhis is funnier. Now zhe balaclava," Erwin ordered.

"Non."

"You are such a baby!" Erwin said, tutting. "You need to take it off before zhe rash develops, or you vill be in a lot of pain."

Jacques slowly pulled his mask off and then frowned at Erwin. The cold air hit his exposed scalp and he shivered again. "Happy now?"

"Oh, ja. Do you realise your hair loss is a good zhing? It vill mean your ability to camouflage includes your entire head. I recommend shaving off zhe remaining hair."

"Good _night_ , docteur."

"If you need me, I vill be behind zhe screens. I have set up a camp bed in here."

"Won't anyone be suspicious if your room is empty?"

"Ach, nein. Nobody ever notices vhere I am," Erwin said. His voice became harder as he continued. "Unless zhey are sent to keep an eye on me."

"I...it was a precaution. An unnecessary one, I was happy to find out," Jacques replied, burrowing under the covers. His skin prickled.

There was no reply. He heard Erwin moving about a little longer, and then everything was silent.

**In Chapter Sixteen: Tyler starts to become suspicious of Erwin, and Scoutbot continues poking his metal nose in where it's not wanted...**


	17. Flight Of Fancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do Spies suffer so nicely? There is something really addictive about making their lives horrible, isn't there?
> 
> I've not included translations in this chapter, because I felt the terms were small and non-important. I can add them if anybody wishes.

_"We transform the world, but we don't remember it. We adjust our baseline to the new level, and we don't recall what was there." - Daniel Pauly_

Tyler padded down the corridor, rubbing his sore arm and cursing himself for being a damn fool. The pain had gotten steadily worse, and he knew that, what with the diabetes and all, any injury to his extremities could become very serious. It was his non-robotic arm that had got stung because _of course it damn well would be_.

Ah well, there was one bright side to this: he could go and poke his nose in and see how Erwin was doing. He was worried about the man. Since they had returned from Peru, he had first cut his own finger off making that new bird house, and then virtually disappeared. Erwin had suffered the most of any of them (except for Sniper Tim, poor bastard), and it had to have left some kind of damage.

Tyler sighed in resignation. _When did I become everyone's Pa?_ He made murder machines. That was his job. It was what he was good at, hell, he excelled at it. It was what people named him 'genius' for. That was a title he had never liked. It was a simple label but you were once given it, you were expected to solve everyone else's problems. _Let's ask Engie. He can sort this out- he's a genius!_

Sometimes, it felt like he was a resource, not a person. Just another machine. The problem was he felt compelled to help. He really did. Just as he _had_ to fix a broken machine, he _had_ to help people who hurt.

He snorted sourly. He remembered back to his teen years when he had been the _only_ person in the entire world who had problems. No one else had ever suffered the way he did. Everyone was a stupid loser except him. But as he had got older and learnt more about the world he had realised that everybody hurt. Being in pain was part of the human condition. Humans were astonishing, terrible, tragic, miraculous, dreadful creatures, and he was one of them, just like everyone else. They were all different, but they had so much in common. He had spread himself out and connected with the world again.

Medic, on the other hand, had looked at the world and built himself a shield of science to hide behind. These days, it had thawed somewhat, but when he was stressed, that shield came right back up.

He grinned, cradling his throbbing arm. Just like any kind of armour plating, it was easy enough to break though, if you knew its weak points.

Erwin hadn't been in his room, so he must be in his lab. Unless he had a sudden wish to clear out all those nasty things in jars, that meant he was working- which was exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing. Tyler decided he would have to winkle him out of there. Grab a beer, get him into the goddamn sunshine for once.

As he reached the lab door, he heard humming and knocked with a smile. It went silent. Tyler frowned and knocked again.

"Doc? You in there?"

There was silence for a moment more before he heard Erwin reply. "Tyler?"

"The one an' only." He rattled the door handle, but it was locked.

"Don't come in!" Erwin called urgently.

"What in Sam-Hill are you up to back there? Anna'll have a fit if she finds out you're working."

"I'm afraid I've had to quarantine zhis lab. Jacques visited me yesterday and fell ill vhile he vas here," Erwin explained through the door. "At zhis stage, zhe symptoms suggest malaria or yellow fever. He is highly contagious and I felt it vas best he stay in here for zhe duration."

"Dang," Tyler said. "Like the fella's not had enough recently. How's he doing? Is he ok?"

"He has an elevated temperature and is quite weak. He..."

"I am here, Tyler," Jacques' voice cut in. His voice was quieter than usual and wavered with weakness.

"You should be in bed!"

"I wanted to see who you were talking to," Jacques said. "Ugh, mon dieu."

"Sit down before you fall down, dummkopf."

"How're you doin', spook? Sorry to hear you got sick."

"Erwin is being overly-dramatic," Jacques replied. "I do feel... truly unwell, but it is just a bout of 'flu."

"Considering vhere ve have been and zhe rapid onset, I felt it vas best to take precautions."

"Couldn't you go up to the infirmary?" Tyler asked.

"Ve vould have to go two floors up and down three corridors to reach it, spreading pathogens zhe entire way. Yellow fever is highly infectious," Erwin explained. "I have an adequate facility here."

"Jacques...is this all ok with you?" Tyler asked quietly. There was a pause.

"Yes, Engineer, to answer your unasked question: I am not being held here against my will. I assure you of that."

"Ok, well, I came to get my arm fixed, but... "

"Your arm?" Erwin interrupted. "Is zhere a problem?"

"Oh, nothin' serious. I got this here bee sting and I reckon it's got infected."

"Ah, I'm sure it vill be fine after a course of antibiotics. Give Albrecht my apologies and explain why I couldn't treat you, bitte."

"Yeah, will do. I'll head over there now. So...is there anything I can get you fellas? I can leave it outside the door for y'all."

There was a thoughtful pause.

"If you could fetch my violin I could..."

"Non!"

"Vhat?"

"My head aches enough without listening to you forcing that poor instrument to make sounds like a cat in heat. A _tone deaf_ cat."

"Tell you want, I'll get you a bottle of wine, how's that?" Tyler grinned at the wooden door. "The violin though, well, that's somethin' two adults have to consent to between themselves."

"Vhat's wrong vizh my violin playing?" Erwin said in a hurt tone of voice.

"I'll go get that wine and be right back," Tyler told them.

"Thank you, Tyler," Jacques said. "It is the best painkiller, I believe."

"See you soon, fellas." Tyler started to walk away, shaking his head. It seemed Jacques was coping, at least...

"Is he gone?" Erwin's voice whispered. There was an answering 'shh!'.

Tyler frowned and quietly padded back to the door, but it was quiet. _Did I really hear that? Does it mean anything? It could be nothing..._

Erwin was his friend and he didn't want to get him into trouble. But what was going on behind that door? He go and get Albrecht to sort out this stupid infected bee sting, and then he'd get that bottle of wine.

Then, he'd figure out some way to find what Erwin and Jacques were up to in there.

* * *

"Doc, it'll be fine," Scoutbot said, padding along the corridor next to Albrecht. The German doctor was fiddling with the cuffs of his labcoat and biting his lip. "I mean, he might be pissed, but the little dude'll enjoy it, you'll see."

"Well, it's not like he could kill me, I suppose," Albrecht said with a weak smile. The smile trembled and dropped. "But...he might not vant anyzhing to do vizh me in zhe future."

"Hell no. Friendships don't work like that," Scoutbot said easily.

"Zhey...don't?" Albrecht asked guardedly.

"How can you not know...I mean, nah. 'Course not. He's your bro, right? That means he'll come round, even if you did something totally bad. And you're doin' this for him, right? 'Cos you know it's best?"

"He can't stay hidden forever," Albrecht said, pulling himself up to his full height. "No matter vhat. Zhis is for his sake. Vait here until I call." He pushed the door to his room open slowly. "Vlad, bist du da?"

Scoutbot heard a muffled reply. Vlad's voice sounded different. Scoutbot had sort of expected something squeaky and dumb, but actually his voice was a little higher pitched, and missed the bass rumble, but he still sounded like the usual big Russian guy. _Just as well. If he had a little kid's voice, it'd crack me up and then he'd be totally pissed._

Albrecht was saying something in an insistent tone of voice, and was answered by what sounded like a flat 'nyet'. Albrecht said something else, but was met with the same determined answer.

_Ah, to hell with it..._

Scoutbot banged the door open. "Hey bro! Aren't you fucking sick of hiding in here by now?"

Vlad turned and glared at Albrecht, who shrugged helplessly. The doctor's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"Well, now you have seen me. Now you may go away and laugh," Vlad said flatly. He was sat on an upturned mug on the table, looking down at the pages of a book that was bigger than he was. "Go on, tell everyone how funny this is. Vlad is now tiny useless man."

"Dude, I already knew." Scoutbot said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. "I see _everything_ that happens here, 'cos none of you dumbasses ever think to draw your curtains."

Albrecht and Vlad glanced at each other very quickly.

Scoutbot started laughing. "You think you're the only ones? Look, I'm a robot. I don't give a shit what you humans do to each other. It's all the same to me. I'd rather watch hardhat doing stuff with his machines."

There was another, more thoughtful silence.

"Yeah...that kinda came out wrong," Scoutbot added. "Um."

"You said you already knew?" Vlad asked insistently.

"Yeah. And you know what? This is. So. Fucking. Cool!" Scoutbot said enthusiastically. "I mean, look at you! There's no one like you in the entire world. That makes you really special, right?"

"Special?" Vlad asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"I bet you could do all sorts of useful stuff for Hardhat. You know, you can get places no one else can. I bet you're still strong...for your size."

"He is," Albrecht said with a certain pride. Vlad just looked at him and rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tweaked.

"Anyway, I knew you were all little like this, so I bugged the Doc here into letting me see you, 'cos I got an idea."

"Idea?" Vlad asked.

"Come flying with me. The Bahamas look fucking _amazing_ from the air, and now you're light enough that I can carry you. It's great up there, so free. We can go wherever you like and see, you know, all the shit in the world! It'd be great to have someone to hang out with, up there and stuff. How about it?"

"No one will see me?" Vlad asked.

"You can't hide forever," Albrecht pointed out. "Zhe fresh air and sunlight vill be good for you."

"See?" Scoutbot said.

"You knew about this," Vlad said, looking at Albrecht.

Albrecht took a deep breath and folded his arms determinedly. "Yes, I did. Mein Geliebter, you can't hide forever. Hate me if you wish, but zhis is zhe right zhing to do. Zhe longer you stay in my room, zhe harder it vill be to get out and live your life again." He sat down at the table and held out a hand hesitantly to the small man. "I...you know I can't fix zhis. Not yet, anyvay. I vill never stop trying, but..."

Vlad looked at Albrecht, and his expression softened into a smile. Albrecht blinked, and his stern frown faded and became pleading. Scoutbot fidgeted, feeling a little awkward.

"Da. I will go."

"Right. Uh, can I pick you up, dude?"

"Da. Hold me around middle," Vlad sighed. "Like doll."

"Hey if you were a doll, you'd be a cool action figure one with fuckloads of guns, right?" He carefully picked the small man up. He felt surprisingly heavy for his size. "Is this ok?"

"Da, is ok." Vlad squirmed a little to get comfortable.

"Have fun." Albrecht opened the large plate glass window with a fond smile. A cool sea breeze laced with the fresh smell of the sea whispered in. "Don't stay out too late or I shall not give you any supper."

"Here we go!" Without any more words, Scoutbot leapt out of the window.

He felt heavy startle at the sudden jump and fall. The sea got nearer...nearer...and Scoutbot fired his jets. They shot up into the clear tropical air, the wind thundering in their ears. The sea sparkled as the sun hit it and Scoutbot climbed high over the Institute.

The world spread out beneath them. The sea was a deep turquoise stretching to the horizon, and Scoutbot could make out a tiny orange spot on the waves- that was Sniper Lawrence, off doing his reef stuff again, he guessed. From up here, they could see the various islands the Institute had claimed. The only one with finished buildings on it was also the closest. It was known as 'Time-out Island', and it was where anybody who misbehaved was sent. Usually, it had at least one or more Soldiers or Demos sulking in one of the small rooms there. Another island a little bit further out had cranes moving about as the Institute continued to grow and thrive. Scoutbot slowed and hovered above the sea, looking down.

"You ok?"

"Da. So high up!"

"I go above the clouds sometimes, but I think there's not much air up there, or something. Don't want you to pass out."

"Hnn," Vlad paused in thought. "We could try. I tell you if it is too much?"

"Dude! You want to get me in trouble?" Scoutbot looked up at the little fluffy cotton-ball clouds. There were only a few today, and they were fairly low...

"Want to see."

"Ok. You better let me know if you pass out."

"Da, will tell you."

"Hold on then!" Scoutbot fired his jets and shot upwards. He altered his flight path and headed for the nearest tiny fluffy cloud. There were never many in the Bahamas, and it was more a wisp than a true cloud, but it would do.

The pair soared higher, until the Institute was just a tiny doll's house far behind them. The cloud loomed, becoming a damp, cold white mass filling their view. It was weird, Scoutbot felt, the way that clouds looked like a single thing far away, but when you got close, they were more like mist- no obvious end or beginning.

The air buffeted Scoutbot as he flew up and into the misty whiteness. There was always a bit of turbulence when he hit a cloud. Fucked if he knew why. No doubt hardhat'd tell him if he asked. Hardhat knew everything, after all.

For a moment, the two of them were surrounded by blankness. Nothingness. Dew beaded Scoutbot's metal arms for a moment, and then they shot out into the sunlight. Beneath them, the white cloud spread out, pure white and soft. It looked solid enough to walk on. Scoutbot turned around and looked back towards the Institute. It was now just a black dot in the blue sea. The dew on Scoutbot's arms turned into little gems of ice. The air was sharply clear. For miles around, it was just the two of them. There was not even a single bird in view.

"Is beautiful," Vlad said.

"Yeah, it's awesome up here. The guys miss so much down there."

"From up here," Vlad said thoughtfully, "Everything is so small."

"Yeah, it's kinda scary, huh? Everything seems so big down there, but you come up here, and it's so frickin' small. Like, you could squish it with a finger." Hands full, he gestured awkwardly with his head at the empty space around them. "You know, we can go exploring sometime. Maybe head out and see what we can find on the islands?"

"But you are robot. What if people see you?"

Scoutbot chuckled. "Yeah, it's happened before. So a few rednecks see me? Big deal. What do they tell everyone? 'A flying purple robot flew over me, said 'hi' and then flew off!' No one believes a fucking word!"

Vlad chuckled too. Scoutbot was pleased to hear the noise.

"I guess we better head back," Scoutbot said. "Before your nursemaid wets himself."

"He is very good friend. Best friend."

"Yeah, dude, I know."

Scoutbot hovered for a little longer, letting Vlad enjoy the view before plunging back down to the sea. The white cloud shot past in a sudden gush of cold air, and then they burst through the bottom of it. The robot angled his flight a little away from the Institute in order to make a seagull squawk in annoyance, and then altered his course to the landing pad on the top of the Institute. As they got closer, they could see a figure in a white coat waiting for them, his hand raised to shade his eyes.

"Huh, looks like he's keeping an eye on you."

"He worries," Vlad said, shouting over the wind as they soared in to land. "I was very hurt after accident. Needed a lot of healing. Am better now. Just so leetle."

Scoutbot came in to land a lot more carefully than he normally did, although he couldn't resist folding his wings in a few feet above the floor and dropping down to strike a pose with a metallic clang. Albrecht looked worried for a moment and then smiled when he saw Vlad safe and sound.

"So, how vas it?"

"Was good!" Vlad said enthusiastically. "We went so high up, above clouds, like in airplane. It was cold. I miss the cold."

"You are alone in zhat!" Albrecht laughed and shook his head.

"We can go again any time you like. Hell, it's fun to have a passenger for once," Scoutbot said. "So, uh, should I hand you over to the Doc or what?"

"I have a satchel here you can ride in," Albrecht said, unslinging a canvas bag from his shoulder. "Zhe material is breathable."

"No," Vlad stuck his chin in the air and folded his arms. "I ride on your shoulder."

"Are...are you sure?" Albrecht asked, picking the small man up carefully.

"I saw all of us from above. We are all tiny when up in the clouds," Vlad said determinedly. "Let them see me. If anyone laugh, I bite their ankles."

"Oh! Vell, ah, Let's go, zhen." Albrecht carefully perched the man on his shoulder. Vlad wobbled and clutched his collar.

"You need to grow your hair, dude. It'll give him something to hold on to." Scoutbot said with a chuckle.

"Hmm, maybe I should," Albrecht said thoughtfully.

"Thank you for flight, leetle robot," Vlad said. "We go again, soon."

"Any time you like, Vlad."

The two humans turned to leave. Just as they reached the stairwell down, Albrecht turned around and gave Scoutbot a quick wink before descending. Scoutbot startled in surprise, his metal joints rattling.

He paused for a few seconds, and then padded after them, shaking his head and chuckling.

**In Chapter Seventeen: Miss Pauling gets some bad news, and Jacques' powers start to manifest...**


	18. Becoming The Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to continue the train wreck! Things are going quite well at the moment, and we can't let that continue, can we? Let's throw a spanner in the works!

_"Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal." - Russell Lynes_

_"To whom it may concern,_

_I am not destroyed so easily._

_How is your little Sniper?_

_C."_

Katie Pauling slammed the letter down on the desk and looked around her grimly. Eleven identical faces looked back at her with the same expression. After she had received this damned letter, she'd called a meeting of all her clones. They tended to avoid getting together too often, since it normally resulted in a nothing other than a bloody awful row. It was sort of embarrassing, but Katie had to admit that she found her clones bossy, arrogant and so convinced of their own righteousness she wanted to shoot out their kneecaps.

However, exceptional circumstances meant it was time for exceptional measures. _Anyway, they all know I'm the one really in charge, not them..._

"So, you can see why I asked you all here," Katie told them all. "I think it's best our guys don't know about this, don't you?"

"I can't say I'm totally surprised," Anna Pauling said in resignation. She pushed some stray strands of hair back from her forehead. "Carmine obviously planned things out very carefully, so it makes sense that he or she would have more than one base of operation."

"I guess that the plantation had to be how they made their money. But maybe they had a fallback base for planning and tactics?" Clara wondered.

"It seems like it," Katie replied with a nod. "The question is: what do we do now?"

"My guys really can't go out into the field again right now," Anna said regretfully. "They're...well..."

"That's really weird in itself," Emily interrupted from the end of the table. "I'm not saying what you all went through wasn't horrible, but considering everything else that happened before we got to the Institute, why did it affect you all so much?"

"Are you calling us _weak_?" Anna snapped. "You weren't there, watching everything go wrong bit by bit. Back in the robot wars, we could at least _act_. Out there in Peru, we couldn't do anything useful at all."

Katie held up a cautionary hand. "How your lot doing, anyway?"

Anna frowned. "Varies. Jacques was taken sick with some nasty jungle bug and he's in quarantine with Erwin, and the others, well, they're doing stuff. None of us really know what to do with ourselves."

"You know, there's something a bit odd about this letter," Sarah mused, tapping her fingers on the piece of paper when it reached her. "It says 'How's your little Sniper?'. I guess it means Sniper Tim, but it seems they don't know he's dead."

"If the teleporter hadn't broken down and we'd had a medigun, I guess we'd have kept him alive," Anna said thoughtfully. "I'd have to check with Medic, but I suppose he'd be really sick- respawning a lot. That type of sick."

"So, Carmine knows about our technology," Sarah said, biting her lip with worry. "And they thought we'd keep Sniper alive. Maybe wanted us to?"

"To see him respawn again and again? Wow, that's _nasty_ ," Clara said. "Why do they hate us so much?"

"Worse than that, it means they know a _lot_ about our tech," Katie said solemnly. "Yet more evidence for a traitor, most likely a Medic."

"It can't be Erwin," Anna said with a shake of her head. "I mean, come on, they tortured him!"

"All the Medics have a high tolerance for pain, and it's the perfect way to remove suspicion," Katie said quietly. "And he let Sniper Tim die, didn't he?"

"God, that's just _sick!_ " Anna exclaimed, standing up. "You didn't see the state he was in. I can't believe anybody would go through that willingly. It was more than pain, it was... was _humiliation_! Medic's a proud man, you think he'd stand being seen like that voluntarily?"

"Sit down, Anna," Katie snapped. Anna glared right back at her and didn't move. Katie sighed. "Ok, look. We're just thrashing out ideas here. We have to consider everything. Trust no one, right?"

Anna stayed on her feet a few seconds more before slowly sitting down, still glaring murderously at Katie.

"If Erwin _was_ working for them, surely they'd know by now that Tim was dead?" Clara pointed out.

"Unless he can't communicate with them right now?" Emma suggested.

"This is insane. The whole thing doesn't make any sense," Anna complained. "If this Carmine wanted to keep Tim alive, then Erwin wouldn't have let him die if he was this traitor, would he?"

"Unless he had no choice," Emma said quietly.

"From your report, he had no way to save him," Katie pointed out. She stood up and rubbed her hands together idly. "Right now, I think the only thing we can do is- be aware. Keep an eye on everyone. My gut tells me this goes a lot deeper than we think. We keep this secret..." She sighed suddenly. "Until Spy finds out and tells everyone, anyway. Keep it quiet for as long as you can, girls."

"I don't like this at all," Anna grumbled.

"None of us do, Anna," Katie replied solemnly. "None of us. Anyway, you all know now, so...let me know if you have any ideas. Let's get back to work. Meeting adjourned."

Anna rose with a sigh and rubbed her head. There was a needle-like pain between her eyes that she'd been getting ever since she had come back from Peru. It was strange, really- Albrecht said that all of the group who had been to Peru had ended up with odd health complaints. Lack of appetite, headaches, the odd infected sore that refused to heal. They were all slowly improving, but it was very weird. Perhaps Emily Pauling had a point. They _had_ been affected more than they should have been, even the ones who hadn't been captured or gone anywhere near the plantation. The question was: _why_?

"Aye, lassie. That looked like a big meeting." Demo Malcolm, walking up to meet her with a happy smile.

"Oh, you know, girl stuff." Anna replied with a smile. She was always glad to see Malcolm. He was fun company. "Swapping recipes, fashion, that kind of thing."

"Ok, so it was important secret stuff. Dinnae tell me then, I don't think I want to know."Malcolm said easily. He hesitated for a moment and then linked his arm through hers. He felt oddly warm, as if he radiated heat like a furnace. The feeling of his solidly muscled arm next to hers made her neck tingle. "I was just gonna grab a beer. This yank stuff is piss, but it's the only thing I can find. Care to join me?"

She smiled up at him. _He really is nice,_ she found herself thinking, _He cares about everyone, and has a big enough heart for both of us. He makes me a better person. And the way he smiles..._

"Sure," She replied, giving in to the inevitable. "I'd love to. Um, is there anything other than that beer though? It tastes like it's been soaked in mouldy bread and then forced through a sweaty sock."

Malcolm tipped his head back and laughed, his teeth gleaming whitely in that handsome dark face. "Aye, you got that right! How about a Californian white? I bet I can rustle us up somethin' sweet and girly."

"I remove people's kneecaps for calling me 'sweet and girly'," Anna replied easily.

"Good thing I was talking about the wine then, eh?" He gave her a winning smile.

She smiled back hesitantly. _I could do so much better than a one-eyed alcoholic. I really could._

_But I don't want to._

* * *

 

_August 15th, 1972._

_Subject J's lesions are approaching confluence on his face and extremities. The stratum corneum is being rapidly shed from the areas with the highest concentrations of papules. There is no sign of vesicle formation. Subject J reports burning and itching sensations that are soothed by showers or baths._

_At 6:37am, J exhibited the first signs of chromataphore activity..._

* * *

 

"Lass mich... Nein!"

Jacques was startled out of restless sleep by the sudden shout in the quiet room. He looked about himself blearily, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. He was drenched in sweat and his skin burned. _Ah...merde._ This curséd fever was making him slow. He looked up at the medigun suspended above his bed. Rather than a focused beam, it bathed him in a subtle green light.

"Erwin?" He sat up slowly, all his muscles creaking at the effort. Dear gods, he was _ill._ He felt even sicker than that time he had caught full-blown influenza. The sooner this was over, the better. Early dawn light crept in past the blinds on the window.

There was a muffled babble of mixed german and english in reply. Jacques could make out the word 'tooth' in there and 'burning'. He sighed.

"Docteur? It is just a bad dream. Nothing more. Wake up, mon ami." Jacques tried to get out of bed, but his legs shook with weakness.

"Bitte...hrm. Jacques?" Erwin replied in a muffled voice. "Ah... Es tut mir leid. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Bad dream?"

"It is just zhe vay our minds process and store recent memories. Simply a mechanical process. Nozhing to vorry about," Erwin said quietly. Jacques heard a pained yawn.

"Unpleasant, though."

"Now zhat is so true." There was a sigh and a creak from behind the privacy curtain, and then Erwin shoved his way into view. "How are you feeling?"

"Very hot," Jacques replied. "I ache, and my skin hurts."

"Don't try to move," Erwin ordered as he grabbed Jacques' spotty wrist with his long, firm fingers. "Tachycardia. Have you been drinking enough?"

"I have never stopped drinking. I seem endlessly thirsty." Jacques complained.

"Are you hungry at all?"

Jacques grimaced. "Not even remotely."

"Zhat's to be expected." Erwin let go of his wrist and switched the light on. He hissed and winced at the bright light for a moment before looking at the rash on Jacques' skin. The white cuff of his pyjamas brushed against the Spy's skin. He frowned for a moment, and then suddenly jumped and dropped his hand hurriedly. "Mein Gott!'

"What? What is it?!" Jacques asked urgently.

"Did...did you see zhat?"

"What?"

"It's vorking! Look at zhe lesions!" Erwin turned away for a second and grabbed a book with a dark cover to bring it near to Jacques' arm.

Jacques eyes widened as he watched a wave of darkness flutter through the spots on his arm as the book touched his skin. Erwin moved it away, and his arm paled again. The doctor suddenly laughed and clapped his hands in glee, while Jacques just gawped, open-mouthed.

"That is... is my skin," He stated.

"Now ve just need zhe rash to reach confluence in all areas and zhe procedure vill be a complete success!" Erwin said enthusiastically. "Isn't zhis incredible?"

"Yes...yes...incredible," Jacques said faintly. He dropped his hand onto the blanket and it flushed orange. He moved it to the white sheets. The spots went a pale off-white.

"In time, I believe you vill be able to control zhe colour consciously," Erwin continued excitedly. "Right now, ve are seeing reflexive changes. I believe zhe disease is half way through its acute phase."

"So...I only have another two days of feeling ill?" Jacques said hopefully. He held up his hand and clenched it, watching the fingers curl and uncurl. A wave of dark blue flashed up and made him startle. "Ugh. I don't think I can get used to that."

"You vill," Erwin said soothingly.

"There is a larger problem here, Docteur: how do I hide this new ability until I have control over it? You know as well as I do that what we have done here will not be approved of."

"Hrm..." Erwin started to pace back and forth in thought. "Vell...you cover most of your skin anyvay. So, first you only need to learn to control just zhe skin around your mouth and eyes, ja?"

Jacques shuddered at the thought of putting anything against his sensitive skin right now. "That can wait until I feel somewhat better."

Erwin nodded in agreement. "Zhis is incredible, isn't it?" He yawned again, but shook it off. "Let me get a mirror for you."

"I'm not sure I want..." Jacques started, but a mirror was shoved into his hands, and of course he had to look now that the temptation was there. He held it up slowly, angling it to catch the early morning light. At the first glance, he startled and dropped the mirror, but quickly picked it up again. He could barely recognise the ravaged visage he saw there. The rash covered all of his face, joining together in places to form flat plaques of puffy, infected skin. Little curls of peeling white skin hung off his chin. A wave of orange rippled across from his chin to his forehead, fading to yellow as he watched. He dropped the mirror, suddenly feeling nauseous. It dropped the floor and smashed.

"Zhat's bad luck, zhey say," Erwin said idly, reaching down to pick up the pieces. "Seven years of bad luck."

"Hmm. I doubt I would even notice the difference," Jacques said sourly. He swallowed, and made himself breathe slowly and regularly.

"It's just a silly superstition anyvay." Erwin said. His shoulders flexed with a small chuckle. "Are you alright zhere? You have gone pa... eh... zhat is, your expression tells me you're nauseated."

"I...it was something of a shock," Jacques replied. He sat back and closed his eyes. He skin itched and burned, and sometimes it felt like something was moving underneath it. There was a glass of water by his bed and he dipped his hands in it and wiped the cool liquid across his skin without consciously thinking about it. The itching immediately lessened. "Ah... the sooner this is over, the better."

"Are you in discomfort?" Erwin asked curiously.

Jacques cracked an eye open and simply gave Erwin a look.

"I'll take zhat as a yes."

**In Chapter Eighteen: Jacques starts to master his skin-changing ability, but Tyler is getting suspicious...**


	19. A Person Of Colours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I apologise for the horrible pun in the chapter of this title? I have a feeling I should! Maybe I can give one of those politician apologies, where I admit I said words (possibly the best words) without admitting to any kind of blame. Yes, let's do that. It was just normal locker room banter! All men say things like this (no zhey don't).
> 
> Ooh, a political joke, how wicked of me. I have to admit though, we Brits are really enjoying watching your glorious trainwreck of an election over there. Most entertaining viewing. Call it payback for our little Brexit debacle last year...
> 
> Anyway, have some more story.

_"Such lovely warmth of thought and delicacy of colour are beyond all praise, and equally beyond all thanks!" - Marie Corelli_

Jacques woke up suddenly in the middle of the next night from a dream about swimming underwater. The water had been clear and cool around him, and he had moved with grace and ease. Tim was swimming alongside him, looking completely healthy and full of life. A school of goldfish flashed past and he had given chase, somehow able to move as fast as his prey. Sniper Tim had been left far behind, but Jacques had laughed with glee even though he was underwater. For the first time in what felt like years, he was free from pain and fever.

He opened his crusty eyes. The lab was silent and dark. Stripes of pure white light from the gibbous moon poured in through the cracks in the curtain. It was an oddly beautiful sight and made the feeling of comfort from the dream linger, much to Jacque's relief.

He glanced at the luminous clock by his bedside. _04:55. August 17th._ He stretched idly, and suddenly realised it no longer hurt to do so. He still felt oddly comfortable even now he was fully awake. He sat up suddenly as he realised that the fever had broken. Bathed in white moonlight, he felt clear-headed and calm, neither hot nor cold.

_Am I recovering?_

He looked at his ravaged skin, but the moonlight was not bright enough to let him see what state it was in, so he swung his legs off the bed and padded over to the window, pausing a moment at the slight light-headedness. He flung the curtains open and let the moonlight pour in. The sea sparkled in front of him, glittering like a sea of mercury beneath a star-speckled night sky. He felt an odd urge to open the window and dive into that liquid silver expanse.

He looked down at his hand again, and a wave of black and white zebra stripes passed over it. _So, this is the moment where my life begins anew. From now on, I am no longer human._

He breathed out slowly in relief. He had paid for his past sins in sickness and pain. Or at least, in part. He could never truly repay his debt to Tim, or Erwin, or the others in the WPD he had wronged. This was just a start. He would be more efficient. He would be a deadly killer, striking from the shadows. He would _never_ let his friends down again. Not ever. He had been toying with the idea of resigning from the World Peace Department, but now he felt stronger and ready to continue. _Once I learn how to control these colour changes, at least. So: Hand. Go black._ He stared at his hand, willing it to change. _Go black._ His skin darkened slightly, and he grinned in triumph- and it went a pure white, stark in the clear light.

He shrugged slightly. He could master this. He knew he would. For now though, he was still tired and it would be best to try this when he had more energy. He clambered back into bed and reached for the full tumbler of water by his bedside. He drank it down in one gulp and laid back, staring at the ceiling.

_I am far too excited to sleep though..._

His eyes closed and he fell straight into a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

_August 17th, 1972_

_Subject J has recovered from the acute phase of the infection. J's temperature was measured to be 36.8°C at 8:13am. The stratum corneum is no longer being shed in unusual amounts, and chromatophore activity is coming under direct neurological control. Subject J reports that the itching and burning sensations are greatly lessened, and that the myalgia has completely ceased. He reports a general sense of well-being._

_Subject J has shown signs of moderate polydipsia, but seems unaware of the excessive amount he is drinking. Urine samples show no sign of pancreatic, hepatic or nephritic involvement._

* * *

The next morning he was woken by Erwin singing something in Latin to Kepler- some choral piece, no doubt. The doctor was fond of dour, gothic music of the sort that made one wish to slash one's wrists on a sunny day. The man did have a surprisingly good voice, though.

Jacques stretched lazily and sat up, revelling in the lack of pain. Yes, he still felt well. Perhaps not exactly ready to take on the world, but certainly ready to tackle the lesser problem of mastering his own skin.

"Morning, Docteur." He reached for the water by his bedside and found he had drank it all over night. He shrugged and poured himself some more from the carafe.

"Jacques? You are awake early." The curtain was pushed back and Erwin entered, shaving foam covering his chin. He dragged an old-fashioned cutthroat razor across his throat with practised ease. "Hmm. You look vell."

"I am feeling much recovered this morning," Jacques said, holding the glass in his hand. He looked down at his skin. It was nothing more than a little sore now, and looked slightly dimpled and waves of colour flitted across it, but otherwise, it appeared to be... skin. Normal skin.

Erwin wordlessly handed him a thermometer. Jacques rolled his eyes, but complied and stuck it in his mouth once again. After a short pause, Erwin took the thermometer and smiled.

"Your temperature is normal- slightly lower zhan normal, in fact, but zhere is some individual variation in body temperatures." He looked at Jacques with that gleeful grin of his. "And look at you! Zhe procedure has been a complete success!"

"I have to admit, Erwin, I am...surprised it worked so well," Jacques said. He gave a small, hesitant smile. "And I realise I have not said thank you. So...thank you. Thank you so much."

"Oh!" Erwin covered his hand with his mouth and looked confused for a moment. His cheeks flushed pink briefly. "It, ah, vell, it vas a pleasure. I have enjoyed your company and zhis has been a fascinating experiment. I should be zhanking _you_ for letting me try out zhis procedure on you."

Jacques threw the blankets back and then looked down at the ridiculous medical gown he was wearing. His admittedly skinny legs were now covered in a mosaic of shifting orange, yellow and dusky blue. He quickly drew the bedsheets back over himself. "Hm. I think I will have a shower, and then I would like my proper clothes back, if you please."

"I have had zhem dry cleaned for you," Erwin said promptly. He opened the drawer by the bed and showed Jacques the neatly folded suit within. The scent of lavender whispered out into the room.

"Why Erwin, that was...remarkably thoughtful of you," Jacques admitted. He sighed in resignation and threw the sheets back again, swinging his legs to the edge. He stood carefully, and although his legs felt a little weak, his head was clear and lacking any dizziness. His stomach ached, and for a sinking moment he thought he was nauseous again, but then he realised he was actually hungry.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Jacques had his shower, and got dressed, and then ate a light breakfast of toast and fruit. Once he was back in his suit, he felt far more normal. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he looked like Spy- except for the weirdly coloured skin around his eyes that fluttered and changed with every thought. He spent much of the time that day concentrating on controlling those little patches of skin around his eyes and mouth.

_Go white._

_Go black._

_Go blue._

_Go red._

Sometimes he managed it, sometimes not. He found his skin could go as pale as parchment, or as black as a cloudy night, and everything in-between. Green was one of the most difficult colours, and Erwin pointed out, while bent over a microscope and no doubt looking at something disgusting, that he had to remember his colour theory and combine blue and yellow to achieve a green.

_Go yellow._

_Go blue._

_Go green._

Well...that was green, yes, but it was more a rotting corpse green than the spring leaf colour Jacques had been hoping for. If he ever needed a halloween costume it might do, he commented to Erwin.

_Go pale._

_Go dark._

_Go tan._

The easiest colours were those found naturally in humans, it seemed. By the end of the day, he could change from arctic pale to sun kissed brown to deep, rich earth tones and back with ease. He pointed it out excitedly to Erwin the uses this could have, and he agreed, adding that once Jacques got the hang of the new musculature under his skin, he would be able to shift his features somewhat so his obviously Caucasian profile would be altered. Jacques looked back at his dark-skinned but hook-nosed self and decided that would be a job for another day.

The most important thing was that he could now go back to his usual skin colour and hold it...most of the time. Erwin had dropped a piece of glassware at some point while he had been practising and it had sent his skin colour utterly haywire for a few moments before he could control it again.

"You know, Erwin, I think this qualifies as the most narcissistic day of my life," He said, just as the sun was beginning to set. "I have spent nearly the entire day staring into this mirror."

Erwin snorted with amusement. "Ja, but you have done very vell. Look at you now: just a normal Spy."

"'Just'"? Jacques asked wryly.

"A normal Spy holding an extraordinary secret," Erwin continued. "Isn't zhat vhat all Spies aspire to?"

"Absolutely," Jacques agreed. "I feel able to hold my usual skin colour for quite some time now. Perhaps tomorrow, I can make a 'miracle recovery' from this mysterious tropical illness you told everyone I contacted? What did you decide upon again?"

"Yellow fever," Erwin said with a nod. "It matches your symptoms and can cause skin colour changes, so I felt it vas ideal. It vould be wise to stay here one more night, zhough, until you have full control over your skin."

"You mentioned I would be able to change the texture of my skin by now," Jacques said thoughtfully, picking up the mirror again. His usual face stared back at him: masked, but showing pale skin.

"Ja, my skin samples show the musculature has formed, but I zhink it needs to become stronger before zhat vill vork. Perhaps zhis is for zhe best, since you can focus on one ability at a time."

"I think you are right. And yes, I shall give you the benefit of my charming company one more night." Jacques smiled at his new friend. "Perhaps we could enjoy another few hands of vingt-et-un over a bottle of wine?"

Erwin slowly smiled. "Zhat sounds like fun."

"Tyler left us that rather nice red," Jacques commented, padding over to get the cards. "Do you think he suspects anything?"

"Ach, nein. Ve vere very convincing," Erwin said unconcernedly. Jacques handed him the cards and he shuffled them slowly and carefully. "He von't suspect a thing."

* * *

"So, Scoutbot, what did you see?" Tyler asked the pacing robot.

"Well, yeah, I could see right into the Doc's lab. I mean, fuck that place, seriously! He has all this gross stuff in jars. There was a _brain_ in one. A whole human brain! I bet it's his Mom."

"They're just samples. Not my kinda thing, but I knew they were there. Did you see Jacques?" Tyler insisted.

"Yeah, Erwin had this little hospital thing set up in one area for him. Looked pretty good, actually- there were books, and a TV, and shit. Jacques was staring into this mirror. Just, you know, staring, like he was trying to shatter the glass with his mind or something."

"Huh. I know Spies are vain but that seems a bit excessive, even for him. Did he look like he was in pain at all?"

"Nah, he seemed ok. Just obsessed with this fuckin' mirror."

Tyler thought for a moment. "The Doc said he had a fever...did he have a rash?"

"Dude, all I could see was the back of his head, and he had his usual mask and stuff on."

"Could you see his reflection?"

"Nah. Mirror wasn't at the right angle."

"Huh. Well, none o' that seems suspicious," Tyler said with relief. "I guess...it all checks out. Once our Jackie gets outta there, we can see what he says about it."

"Yeah...I have to say though..."

"What?"

"Man, I dunno... I got this gut feeling..."

"You ain't got no guts, son."

"Jeez hardhat, you know what I mean!" Scoutbot replied impatiently. "I mean... some serious shit is going down. I didn't see a thing, but I've got a nose for these things..."

"You ain't got no..."

"Shut the hell up and let me finish! I tell you. They're up to something. Something _big._ "

Tyler clenched his teeth and let out a hissing breath. "Yeah. I know. Keep your eyes open, son. Let me know if you see anythin'. Let me know if you see nothin'. But most of all- keep this between us, ok?"

"Sure. You can trust me, right?" Scoutbot stood tall. "I can keep _anything_ secret!"

**In Chapter Nineteen: Jacques gets to show off his newfound abilities to a wider audience- and finds himself a little sidelined by the arrival of even more surprising...**


	20. Double Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hmm. The title 'Author' sounds a little too posh for a daft bit of fanfic. Maybe scribbler would be better?
> 
> Anyway, last chapter got lots of reviews and comments! I love all of them! It's nice to see this AU is still popular, even though it's now far, faaar outside the canon. Thank you so much, those of you who have stuck with my nonsense. I'd write even with no audience, but I find an audience encourages me to polish my stuff a little more.
> 
> Also, we're now halfway through the story. Poop.
> 
> Now, let's continue. I rather enjoyed writing the list below...

_"Three things cannot be long hidden: The sun, the moon, and the truth." - Buddha_

"Erwin, are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"

"Oh, ja, natürlich! Everyvone has to see zhat you are vell, and zhis is an excellent vay to test your abilities," Erwin said, dragging the reluctant Spy along by the arm. "Zhe food is very good, you know."

"I don't normally frequent the mess hall..." Jacques said, walking as slowly as he could. "I find it rather too noisy and busy. And there tend to be explosions- of both stupidity, and the less metaphorical sort."

"And I zhought Spies liked to show off..." Erwin said with a tutting noise.

"Oh really? I can see how the _disguises_ and _cloaking devices_ would give you that impression." Jacques closed his eyes and concentrated on staying pale...staying pale...staying pale. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't believe I can control my colour well enough for this yet!"

"You didn't change colour vhen I popped zhat balloon behind you zhis morning," Erwin pointed out.

"Yes, thank you _so_ much for that," Jacques replied sourly. "It was a wonderful way to wake up after so many disturbed nights."

"It vas necessary," Erwin said blithely, pushing the door open to the Institute's mess hall.

When the clones had taken over Gray Mann's facility, they had had an urgent need to make it a suitable place for a large number of humans to live, and they had had to do it in a hurry. The tenth floor had been a single-room robot production facility, so it had seemed logical to turn it into a military-style mess hall. Old steel benches had become tables or worktops, and the metalworking machinery replaced by ovens, sinks and hobs.

At first, the food available there had been of the 'rehydrate and boil' variety, but as the Institute became established, Pyro Minhuang, Spy Constantin and Heavy Anatoly had staged a culinary coup and taken over the area, roping in other people in a 'rota' that seemed utterly random and arbitrary, but meant that everyone, even Katie Pauling, ended up drying dishes or chopping vegetables at some point. The quality of the food had improved hugely, and there was usually a choice between quick snacks and full meals at any time of the day or night.

The kitchen area was fenced off with glass panels, and even though the floor was scuffed and cracked concrete and the chairs were cheap plastic, it had become something of a social hub for the more extrovert mercenaries. A few wilting pot plants had been placed in the corners to make it seem more homely. The walls were dotted with the kind of bland artwork that always turned up in public areas (i.e. The pictures nobody wanted to put on the walls in their own homes, but were a bit too good to throw away), and there was a large poster pinned up with a list of rules:

_1._ _No weapons._

_2._ _No ammo._

_3._ _No explosives._

_4._ _No power tools._

_5._ _No using cutlery as weapons._

_6._ _No using cutlery as ammo._

_7._ _No removing cutlery from the area to turn into weapons, ammo, explosives or power tools._

_8._ _No fires allowed except in the designated kitchen area (the gas hob)._

_9._ _No raccoons allowed ANYWHERE._

_10._ _No table-jumping races._

_11._ _Soldier does not have the authority to place people on potato peeling duty._

_12._ _Suitable clothing must be worn: No bloodstains. No wetsuits. No nudity._

_13._ _Honey is not 'suitable clothing'._

_14._ _Robots are allowed in the dining area. Flying robots are not._

_15._ _Human organs and/or roadkill are not healthy food additives._

_16._ _Medic's doves are not delicious, and are not to be cooked in this area. They are registered in respawn, and will be teleported out of your intestines if you eat them. This will not feel pleasant._

_17._ _The tables in this area are for eating, not:_

_a._ _Dancing,_

_b._ _Stripping motor engines,_

_c._ _Abdominal surgery,_

_d._ _Gutting fish,_

_e._ _Cleaning guns,_

_f._ _Planning assassinations,_

_g._ _Building blanket forts._

_18._ _Replaceable limbs are not to be removed in front of other diners._

_19._ _Smoking is permitted in the area containing ashtrays._

_20._ _Adding more ashtrays does not make the smoking area larger._

_21._ _No running._

_22._ _No maiming._

_23._ _No decapitations._

Jacques tried to avoid this place as much as possible. When he was really busy, he would grab a bite to eat in here and try to ignore the idiocy going on around him.

Erwin cleared his throat pointedly, gesturing to the open door. Jacques nodded, squared his shoulders and entered, ready for the stream of questions and well-wishers. He stepped over the threshold, settling into his usual relaxed-looking slouch. A wave of curious shouts and chatter washed over him. _Stay pale. Stay pale. Stay..._

He realised that nobody was actually looking at him at all, and breathed out, feeling slightly insulted despite the relief. Instead, a number of people were crowded around a table over in the far corner, asking questions and shoving each other for a better look.

"Vhat is going on?" Erwin asked under his breath. Jacques shook his head silently and they moved over to see what was happening.

"Fellas, move back, he's not a circus show!" Engineer Dell shouted as they got closer.

"Ah, c'mon, this is..."

"...way cool, man! I mean, look at him."

"I think it's a model," Soldier commented, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Let me prod it and see."

"Ach, look at the poor wee man! You ok doon there, laddie?"

"Right, that's enough," Dell barked, grabbing Soldier and shoving him backwards. "This man was wounded in action. Show some goddamned respect."

Erwin looked at Jacques and shrugged in bafflement.

"Engineer is right, men! Move back and let this veteran see the daylight he preserved for us all to enjoy!" Soldier now joined Dell in shoving the mob of people back.

"Who vas injured? Do zhey need my help?" Erwin barked above the noise. "Let me zhrough!"

The crowd finally parted at the sound of Medic's voice, revealing Vlad and Albrecht. Jacques' mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Da, I am tiny man now. Secret is out," Vlad said quietly to the waiting audience. He crossed his arms and held his chin up high, perched as he was on Albrecht's shoulder. "Teleporter accident made me this way. Maybe I can no longer crush you, but if you laugh, I crush leetle parts instead. Whatever leetle parts I can find. It will hurt _even more._ "

The men's thoughts instantly went to one special place and they all winced.

"What do ye mean 'little'?" Demo Iain demanded. Engineer Dell thumped the Scot's arm in annoyance.

"Nobody's gonna give you trouble, son." Dell said firmly. "'Cos we're all better than that. _Aren't we?_ " The Engineer glared at the group of men, all of whom were taller than him. They looked away or at their feet. There was the sound of shuffling and awkward fidgeting.

"Tiny Vlad is a war hero!" Soldier declared. "I will make him a medal suitable for one of his stature and then no one can make fun of him. It's _illegal_ to laugh at war heroes! Where I come from, they give war-hero-gigglers the _chair_!"

"I am vorking on finding out vhat happened to Vlad- or, more accurately, how zhe hell he survived it. In zhe meantime, ve..." Albrecht spluttered to a halt and coughed in embarassment. "Zhat is, Vlad vill do his best to be a useful member of zhis facility."

"Heck, I can think of a dozen jobs he can do, off the top o' my head," Dell said with a smile. "For instance, I got this conduit that...well, damn, there's a familiar face! Good to see you up and about! How're ya doin', Jacques?"

Jacques blinked as all eyes turned towards him, gritting his teeth as he concentrated on keeping his skin one colour.

"I've been quite ill, but I am mostly recovered now, thank you," He managed.

"You sure you're alright there? You sure do look pale, still." Dell frowned in puzzlement. "Really pale, in fact, and kind of... of..."

 _Bordel!_ Jacques instantly thought of trying to darken his skin to a more natural tone, but quickly realised it would not help keep up the subterfuge.

"Jacques is still quite veak," Erwin commented. "He is convalescing, but it takes a vhile to fully recover from yellow fever. Too much stress can cause a relapse, so he must be careful."

"Yes...yes...I think I had better sit down now, in fact." Jacques made a show of sitting down quickly, as if his legs had given out from under him.

"As you can see, it is called _yellow_ fever for a reason," Erwin explained, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement at his own joke. Jacques gave him a warning glare.

"Is good that leetle Spy is feeling better," Vlad said, leaning forward on Albrecht's shoulder.

"The good docteur says I am no longer contagious, and I had a wish to stretch my legs." Jacques took out his cigarettes and lit up. He smiled briefly, looking at the disguise kit hidden in the sleek brushed-aluminium case. _I wonder if I will ever need it again?_ "I heard about your own injury, Vlad. My condolences."

"It is remarkable you survived!" Erwin said, leaning in to look more closely at the tiny mercenary. Vlad glared back in annoyance. "It is a testament to your great strength and stamina. No doubt it vould have killed a lesser man."

"Hnn." Vlad nodded slowly and folded his arms. "Is true. Was leetle bit hurt though. Had to recover."

"'A little bit hurt'? My arse!" Iain said, shaking his head. "I saw the teleporter after ye came back. It were splattered with blood and them little wobbly bits o'meat an' guts."

"Vlad lost approximately ninety-eight percent of his body mass to corrupted data in zhe teleport. His...general structure was intact, zhough, and I was able to stabilise him vizh zhe medigun." Albrecht swallowed, and his hands twitched. "Zhe... zhe medigun formed zhe remaining living tissue into a viable form, but I couldn't restore his size."

"You saved my life, doktor. Is good thing, even if am small now," Vlad said, patting the large shoulder beneath him. "Do not blame yourself." Albrecht closed his eyes and sighed briefly.

"A high pressure steam cleaner took care of the rest of the 'corrupt data'," Dell said. He grimaced. "The smell, though... I ain't gonna be eatin' no bacon for some time to come, that's for damn sure."

"On that charming note, perhaps we could get our lunch," Jacques suggested.

"Let me get you somethin', Jacques, you look all in there," Dell said. "What do you fancy?"

Jacques thought for a moment. He _was_ hungry, ravenous in fact, but his stomach felt just a little edgy even so. "Perhaps some soup and bread? Something light."

"It's your lucky day, son, Constantin made french onion soup," Dell said with a grin. "I'll get you a good bowl o' that."

"Ah, merci," Jacques said with a grateful smile. Although his earlier dramatic show of weakness when he had sat down was an act, he _did_ feel rather weak in actuality. His legs still shook if he stood for any length of time. "I would be grateful for some water, if you please. A large glass."

"Sure thing."

"Can I have zhe bacon salad, bitte?" Erwin asked.

"You just _had_ to choose that, didn't ya?" Dell chuckled. "You can help yourself, fella. You've not been sick. Go on, git!"

"Hmph!" Erwin stood up and stalked away towards the kitchens. The others brought their plates over, and the group sat down together companionably. Albrecht carefully picked up Vlad and put him on the table next to his plate. He shredded a section of his meal into mush, and pushed it over to the side of his plate nearest the reduced Heavy, who grabbed a piece and started eating, quickly and neatly. Dell returned and carefully unloaded food from his tray for Jacques and himself. Erwin followed behind him, still looking slightly annoyed.

"So, how're you doing, wee big laddie?" Iain asked Vlad concernedly. "I mean, cannae be easy. Just let me know if I can help ye at all. Ye'd do the same fer us."

"Y'know, I reckon I could offer some help here," Dell said, loading his fork with food and shovelling it into his mouth. Jacques watched his eating technique with a small shudder, wishing the man would use a knife like a civilised person.

"Hrm, ja, your technical assistance vould be appreciated," Albrecht said with a nod. "Now zhe secret is out, perhaps your knowledge of the teleporter system could..."

"Actually, what I was thinkin' of was making a knife and fork set for our fella here," Dell admitted with a disarming grin. "Makin' miniatures is a bit specialist, but it makes for a nice challenge now and again."

"Would be good to eat hot food without burning hands," Vlad admitted.

"Heck, yeah. I could go further, thinkin' about it. Bathroom, kitchen...no, wait, a kitchen wouldn't work. Vlad-sized food'd burn too quick. Surface area to volume ratio and all that. Bedroom, maybe?"

"Is alright. Sleep on..." Vlad glanced briefly at Albrecht, who looked away. Jacques quietly shook his head in amusement at their transparent little act. "...On pillow. Is fine."

"Hey guys." Bobby (or possibly Rick) came over, carrying a tray that seemed to groan under the weight of the pile of food on it. Rick (or possibly Bobby) followed him.

"You really gonna eat all that?" Dell asked idly.

"Yeah..." Bobby started.

"We are," Rick finished. The two identical Scouts pulled up a chair, placed the piled plate between them and both starting eating off it, cutlery clattering.

"Do you...always eat like that?" Jacques asked the two hesitantly.

"Yeah, 'course we do."

"Katie'd tan our hides if we used fingers."

"No, I meant...ah, I guess it doesn't matter." He delicately took a sip of his soup. It was delicious. Spy Constantin had a real gift. He added a little more salt. It was odd, but he had been craving salty foods recently. The bread, alas, was typical American bread- white, soft and soggy. _Nothing to be done about that, I suppose._

"You said something about me 'tanning your hides?' What have you done...oh!" " A voice interrupted behind them. The whole group froze as Katie Pauling walked over. She frowned, her head cocked on one side and looked at Vlad. "So...would you care to explain to me why you hadn't told me about this before now, Vlad?"

Vlad shrugged, not even remotely intimidated by the woman looming over him. "Was not the right time. But now, it is."

"Hmm." She walked around the table, her hands happening to trail across Bobby and Rick's backs, making them grin goofily. She took the spare seat opposite Vlad and sat down, looking at him measuringly. Jacques realised with a shudder that she really did take after her terrifying mother at times like this. Her voice became softer, though. "I'm glad you're ok. You _are_ ok, aren't you?"

"Da. I am healthy. Just leetle," Vlad replied, grabbing another piece of meat from Albrecht's plate.

"He does have some special medical requirements due to his size," Albrecht added. "His metabolism is faster, so he needs to eat more often, and vould lose heat quickly if ve vere somevhere cold."

"Hnn. Cold does not bother me," Vlad said determinedly. "Is not problem."

"And I say it _vould_ be a problem," Albrecht replied sharply. "You know zhat..."

Jacques tuned out for a bit, concentrating on his meal. The soup was warming and soothing- just what he needed after being ill. He actually felt slightly irritated. Here he was, having been supposedly deathly ill, but Vlad was apparently far more interesting than he was. He could feel his temper starting to spike out of pure peevishness... a finger poked him in the side, and Erwin cleared his throat pointedly, looking at the top of his head.

He was too late, though- Iain was staring at his head with his mouth open and wide eyes." Eh, Spy...yer head...yer mask is..."

Jacques hastily felt his scalp and realised he could feel bumps all over it, forming little spikes. _Merde! This is not a good time to work on muscle control._ He forced himself calm, and felt his head go smooth again. He made a show of re-arranging his mask.

"My hair sometimes gets a little tangled under this balaclava," He said calmly, taking another sip of his soup.

"Ah...yeah...yer hair," Iain said, still staring. He looked down suddenly. "I could've sworn... bugger me, I need tae cut back on my drinking."

Jacques could feel Erwin snickering to himself and elbowed him hard.

**In Chapter Twenty: Jacques gets to try out his disguise abilities properly- and learns that Spy Marcus is stirring up trouble...**


	21. The Rise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le gasp! I am a few hours late with my update! What is this madness?! Sanctus is never late. He always publishes precisely when he means to.
> 
> Well, actually, that's not true. Just at publishing time, I suddenly decided to rewrite this chapter because I'm an obsessively picky writer. Or perhaps it's an addiction. Can you be addicted to proofreading? It sounds like the most boring addiction ever. Ah well, I doubt it'll do my any harm, as long as I get my regular fix. *twitch*
> 
> I hope you enjoy the very last sentence of this installment.

_"Gaiety is often the reckless ripple over depths of despair." - Edward Hubbell Chapin_

The sun had almost set over the sea when Anna Pauling met Spy Marcus on a little spit of sand that curled off the end of Time-Out island. The cooling sea breeze had stopped in the twilight and the air was very still. The only noise was the gentle murmur of the waves as it sucked at the beach.

Anna carefully placed a blanket on the sand and sat down with a slightly annoyed sigh.

"So, what's this all about, Marcus?" She asked impatiently. "You send me a mysterious note to ask me to meet you somewhere obscure and far away from most of the Institute to tell me 'Something of interest'. You know I don't have much patience for all this Spy crap."

"Yes, I know," Marcus said, sitting down beside her and inhaling his cigarette. He blew an idle smoke ring into the air. "However, I have important information. First of all, I know about Carmine."

"Of course you do! You were there when we blew up the plantation," Anna replied irritably.

"Non. I mean, I know about the _new_ note. I know that Carmine is still alive- and still after our blood," Marcus said. "I know about your meeting with all your lovely copies to discuss it."

Anna sighed in resignation. "Well, we knew _someone_ would listen in. Please don't tell everyone. It'd be chaos."

"I realise that," Marcus said. "We Spies collect information- but rarely give it out freely."

"Does anyone else know?" Anna asked.

"That I can't tell you," Marcus replied. "It could be other Spies were listening- who knows? I wouldn't be surprised."

"So, you just wanted to tell me you know something. Great. Is that all?"

"Not at all. I have found something out. Something disturbing."

"Get on with it, Marcus!"

Marcus sighed in slight irritation. "You have no appreciation for drama. Very well: Erwin and Jacques are up to something. They are in collusion."

"Erwin had Jacques in quarantine, because he got yellow fever, poor guy," Anna said. She frowned thoughtfully. "You think there's something more to it?"

"Frankly, yes," Marcus said flatly. "Before Jacques 'fell ill', he and Erwin were spending a lot of time together. I felt it prudent to keep my eye on Erwin, even given his...unpleasant welcome at the plantation. As you know, Jacques was sorely troubled by the events in Peru, but now, he seems far less burdened, all of a sudden- and crippling illness is not known for its ability to make a person happy or care-free. I find myself wondering: was he paid off? Did they come to an accord? Or has Erwin recruited him? They are all possibilities."

Anna looked out over the water and bit her lip in thought. "I can't believe Erwin is working for Carmine. I just _can't_. You saw the state he was in!"

"Who knows? Perhaps this was all orchestrated to take blame away from him. From them _both_."

"God, I don't like this at all."

"Neither do I," Marcus admitted. "Jacques is my...brother, after all. I find the idea of any of us Spies turning traitor deeply disturbing. I do not have the fluid loyalties many assume. To think about a Spy that does...it goes against the grain."

"So you think they're colluding?" Anna asked. "I need good evidence before I can act."

"I think they're working together on something. Something big, and secret. I _hope_ it doesn't involve Carmine."

"Huh." Anna looked away for a moment. "Well, I'll keep an eye out. That's all I can do."

"That is all any of us can do," Marcus admitted. "I hope and pray I'm wrong, truly I do."

"Yeah, me too," Anna replied quietly. "I just wish I knew what Carmine wanted!"

Marcus snorted sourly. "Who knows? Perhaps we have done him some great wrong. Perhaps he harbours jealousy at our successes. Perhaps he is simply insane. It could be he has a vendetta against us just because the voices in his head told him to do it."

"Surely someone that insane wouldn't be able to run a drug empire!"

"Really?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Have you looked around you, lately? Look at Pyro. Look at Engineer. They are still competent and productive, even with their... little ways, oui?"

Anna snorted sourly. "That goes for all of us."

"So it does," Marcus sighed. "So it does. Well, there it is. Apologies for being the bearer of bad news, but you needed to know."

"I'm not sure you've told me anything, except to keep my eyes open," Anna complained, getting to her feet and rubbing sand off her knees. "Don't tell anyone about this, ok?"

"Of course, Madamoiselle." Marcus gave a short bow.

"I better get back. I'm meeting Mal tonight for dinner."

"'Mal'?" Marcus asked.

"Oh, er, Demo Malcolm," Anna said. She looked down and fiddled with her hair briefly. "We...er...he..."

"Everyone deserves a little romance in their lives," Marcus said with a smile that turned slowly warmer. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a fond squeeze. "Go ahead and grasp it when you find it."

She looked up at him and flashed a quick grin. "Right, I will."

"Before you go, Anna," Marcus said, clearing his throat and briefly fiddling with his tie, "I am aware you had an... unusual upbringing. No father to speak of, a mother who was somewhat...preoccupied. I believe it is possible your education in the... affairs of the heart... could be somewhat lacking. If you have any questions, I would be happy to answer them, fully and frankly."

"Questions...? Oh _God_ , Spy! You're not seriously offering to give me 'The Talk', are you? Jesus! I mean thanks, but... no. Really, really no."

"Very well." Marcus gave a short chuckle. "Better to be safe than sorry, non? Talking of which, you know... how to be safe?"

"Look, can you just shut up right now?" Anna said in exasperation. "I know what you're getting at, but we've only talked, it might never... uh... ok, I'm going back in. Goodnight, Marcus."

The two walked off. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the air started to cool and gain a slight chill. The sand moved. First a few grains shifted, and then an entire man-shaped chunk of sand sat up and shook itself off.

"Bordel!" Jacques muttered, trying to snort sand out of his nose. _I think we can call that a successful trial of my abilities._ He concentrated and shifted his skin back to its normal pale and smooth. Jacques had quickly realised that his skin-changing abilities had one rather large drawback: he had to be naked for it to work. Still, it wasn't as if he had never worked naked before: a certain _special_ kind of information gathering involved nakedness (and quite a bit of enjoyment, if he was entirely honest with himself). Admittedly, this was a little more public than he was used to. It was worth it, though, and his clothes were just over there... he groped under a bush until his hands touched invisible cloth. The cloaked suit shimmered back into existence and he got dressed, cursing at the sand chafing his skin.

Once back in his suit, he sat on the sand and looked out over the sea while he thought about what he had heard. _So, we didn't kill Carmine. I can't say I'm surprised. He seems like a clever planner, that one. We must have hit him hard financially, though._ He frowned in worry. The sea was calm, and cool, and seemed to beckon him. For a moment, he thought of diving in and swimming far away... _Too late in the day for a swim, you idiot! Concentrate._ The most important piece of information was that not only was Erwin still under suspicion, but now _he_ was as well.

He had to warn Erwin. Then they had better avoid each other for a few days. Jacques sighed. It was odd, but... he'd enjoyed Erwin's company more than he expected during the time he had been treated. In fact, he'd be willing to say they had become friends. Good friends.

He had already decided that Erwin must be innocent. Not only had he been tortured, but he would not have helped Jacques if he was going to betray them all. This kind of suspicion was no doubt _exactly_ what Carmine wanted. He or she could reduce them to petty in-fighting and ruin the Institute without lifting a finger. He got to his feet. He legs felt slightly numb and tingly, but Jacques decided he must have just sat awkwardly. He checked there was no one about, and then took the teleport back to the Institute, and made his way to Erwin's room, effecting an idle, relaxed stroll. It was important to look relaxed. Just a normal day, visiting a friend. Yes.

He knocked, and Erwin opened the door. His long face lengthened in surprise and then broke into a warm smile.

"Jacques! Good to see you. I hope zhere is nozhing wrong?"

"Not at all, docteur. Purely a social visit." Jacques gestured at the door. "If I may?"

Erwin looked at the door in bafflement for a few seconds and then blinked as he realised what Spy meant. "Please, come in."

Jacques strolled inside and then sat down with a sigh. "Apologies, but actually, this is not quite the social visit I made it out to be. I wanted to avoid causing any more suspicion."

"Zhere is a problem?" Erwin frowned in worry. "Is zhe treatment..."

"Non, non the treatment has worked perfectly," Jacques replied with a wave of his gloved hand. "A few weeks, and we can reveal your work. I'm sure it'll be highly praised. We have another problem. Two problems. Firstly, my sources tell me Carmine is still alive."

"Scheiße. I'm not surprised, but I had hoped he vas dealt vizh." Erwin stopped and swallowed suddenly. His hands clenched into a white-knuckled fist. "Do...ve have to go back to Peru?"

"It has not been suggested, thank God," Jacques said with a sigh. "I don't think I could tolerate that."

"Neizher..." Erwin's voice cracked and his cleared his throat. "Neizher could I."

"The other problem is a more personal one," Jacques said. He looked Erwin squarely in the eye. "I'm sorry to tell you that you are still under suspicion as a traitor."

"VHAT! _How_... how is zhat even _possible?_ " Erwin barked and got to his feet. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at it roughly. "After everyzhing zhat... Look at my hands. _Look_ at zhem! Vould I allow an ally to do _zhis_?" Erwin held his damaged fingers out in demonstration. Jacques already knew what he'd see: only two intact fingernails in total. The others were tiny little half-moons growing back from the nail bed, crooked and bent. Medic sat down again and put his head in his hands.

"If I read the situation correctly, the amount of suspicion against you is lessened due to the unpleasant welcome you received in Peru. The distrust of you is still there, but less than it was, at least. The problem is that our recent time spent together has been noted. They think we are colluding." Jacques snorted sourly. "Carmine is ripping the Institute apart. We are both suspects now- and it will spread like poison, until no one trusts anyone else."

Erwin looked up at that. "So, now you are under suspicion too?"

"Indeed I am." Jacques nodded grimly. He paused briefly, wondering whether to continue. "I have my own suspicions, too: Marcus."

"You zhink he might be our traitor?"

"After my first mistake, I am loathe to point fingers again," Jacques continued, "But _he_ is the one who knew the precise location of the plantation. _He_ is now the one pointing fingers at us, and... oh, mon Dieu! That is a terrible thought!"

"What?!"

"Obviously, Marcus and I look practically identical. I was not harmed when we were captured..."

"Carmine zhought you vere Marcus, and coughed to give away our position, and then left you unharmed," Erwin said quietly. "I zhink ve need to report zhis."

Jacques snorted sourly. "You believe anyone will listen to _us_? There is far more evidence against you than him. It will be seen as spineless finger-pointing, no more. There is only one productive action we can take right now: we need to avoid each other for a few days, to reduce the suspicion."

"No," Erwin said flatly. "I need to assess your condition. Let zhem suspect. It's obvious zhat nozhing I can do vill stop zhem, and I will _not_ stop my greatest vork just to make zhem feel safe. I am not a nursemaid!"

"I can't do my job if I am under constant surveillance," Jacques pointed out.

"You don't have to be." Erwin suddenly gave an evil smile. "You can vanish in a way nobody else ever could. It seems obvious vhat ve have to do now."

"It is?"

"Ve find Carmine. Just us. Ve track him down and bring him to justice- or butcher him on zhe spot. Eizher is fine by me."

"Even if it means returning to Peru?" Jacques asked.

"Gott." Erwin closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering, breath before opening them again. "Yes. If ve have to."

"Erwin," Jacques said solemnly. "I swear I will do everything within my power to make sure that you are _never_ captured by them again. As far as I am concerned, you are _not_ the traitor, and you never were."

Erwin looked up. His eyes looked unexpectedly shiny, and Jacques realised with a shock just how much the doctor had been affected by what he had been through. He had just not let anyone see before now. The man was on a knife edge.

Jacques cleared his throat and put his hands on the man's tense shoulders.

"You are my friend, and I _trust_ you, Erwin."

* * *

Jacques felt himself filled with a new energy and determination over the next few days. Rather than being burdened with worry, the knowledge that Carmine was out there filled him with purpose. They would bring Tim's murderer to justice, and stop the attacks. They would be heroes- not that he needed adoration or acknowledgement, of course. No, not at all.

In the meantime, he practised his new skin-changing ability. It seemed it worked best when he wanted to blend into natural textures- sand, rock, or leaves. Pebbles were more difficult, because of their bumpy surface. Out of curiosity, he tried mimicking his mask, and found he could copy the way it sat on his face absolutely perfectly. His skill was growing in leaps and bounds.

He looked at his rapidly changing face in the mirror and smiled. He was The Spy. The perfect imitator. More than human.

There was just one more thing he had to do.

He carefully ran the razor over his scalp, cutting off what little hair he had left. As he worked, he stared at his shaved head in the mirror. With a twitch of his lips, a wave of bright pink and yellow spots flooded down from his forehead and he snorted in laughter.

...A curl of dark brown hair fell to the floor...

He had been practising his new skill to listen in to a lot of private conversations that he knew were none of his business, and learnt some very interesting facts about the people working in the Institute:

For instance, Heavy Dimitri was fond of needlework, and was currently working on a design of two teddybears hugging a pink heart. Medic Uwe had tried to complete it and the two of them had had a row when Dimitri found suture silk knotted all through his tapestry.

Meantime, Pyro Fanxue was working on something that involved bright green fire. At one point, he'd filled Engineer Connor's workshop with bright purple fumes and they'd both staggered out, coughing and giggling before passing out.

...There was quite a pile of fine brown hair on the floor now. It was a shame he couldn't alter his hair colour, really. Still, that was what wigs were for...

While hidden against an alcove in a concrete wall, he had found out that Scout Matt and Scout Thomas had had a fistfight over the affections of Clara Pauling. Matt had won- and then Clara had turned them both down. The two Scouts had gone off together to get drunk and lament about the perfidy of women. It had been most amusing to watch.

A heap of fallen palm leaves had provided the perfect cover to watch Engineer Tyler cooing and singing over his bees. _Literally_ singing to them. Maybe he was trying to make the honey sweeter? Jacques had smothered his laughter hurriedly and then Tyler had stepped back and trodden on his calf. He had managed to avoid yelping and now had a boot-shaped bruise on his leg.

... The final little curl of hair dropped to the floor.

He looked into the mirror. His thin face looked spare and lean without the hair. The face of the perfect killer. He could go anywhere, do anything, see everything. His lips stretched in a thin smile. It was time to forget the past, and go forward. Everything was as it should be.

He remained in high spirits until the next morning, when his teeth started to fall out.

**In Chapter Twenty-One: Tyler races to the rescue- and fails.**


	22. ...And Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just noticed something really interesting. Pyro's skull is visible when the voodoo-cursed Pyro soul is equipped, as you may know. What you may not know is that it is possible to tell a person's gender from their skull...and Pyro is female.
> 
> So, there we go. Female Pyro is canon. Maybe. Sort of. Or it might just be the result of a low poly count...
> 
> Anyway, time to publish one of my favourite chapters of this story! It's one of the climax ones where stuff happens. I've also made an SFM poster for it, which you can find at <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/And-Fall-642244415>

_"It is wise to keep in mind that neither success nor failure is ever final." - Roger Babson_

* * *

_August 21st, 1972_

_This morning, Subject J unexpectedly developed edentulism, a lowered core body temperature (35°C at 7:46am),and lowered blood pressure (80mmHg Systolic, 50mmHg diastolic). New cartilaginous structures are forming from the alveolar ridges. Secondary to this, he exhibited nausea and vomiting, possibly due to hypoxaemia._

_It was theorised that a) Subject J had developed second-stage viraemia as found in more severe Variola infections, and/or b) That ME56ceph1 could have been contaminated with foreign DNA from other organisms present in the original epithelial sample, perhaps Mithrax spinnosissimus._

_At 8:01am, Subject J was given an injection of_

_(The journal ends at this point, except for a streak of ink. The page is splattered with blood)_

* * *

Jacques had had a restless night's sleep. It was the night before it all went horribly, nightmarishly, wrong. A night he would always remember.

At first, he assumed he was simply well-rested after the week and a half's compassionate leave, but he had been unable to settle at all. His legs had tingled and demanded movement, while he felt far too hot. At one point, he had drifted into a light sleep where he dreamt about sharing a bottle of wine with Sniper Tim, only to wake up dripping with sweat. His lower chest ached. He twisted and turned, but was unable to get comfortable. Eventually, he got up and got some water from the nearest cooler. Some buried part of him thought: _salt._

He blinked in confusion, and wandered to the silent mess hall to get some salt. He stirred it into the water, looking into its depths and wondered why the hell he had a craving for cold, salty water. He gulped it down quickly, staying by the sink just in case. Salty water was, after all, an emetic. Any decent Spy knew that. However, the liquid going down his throat was soothing and satisfied his thirst in a way he knew it absolutely should not have done.

_I want more._

He got another glass of saline and downed that too. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but his breath caught in his chest as a sudden hot agony ripped across his torso. It felt like there were three stripes of pain between his lower ribs. He traced the skin under his pyjamas and found it hot and sensitive to the touch. He swallowed, and tried not to panic, feeling his breathing get faster and his heart pump in fear.

_Something is wrong. Very wrong._

_No. Stay calm. Find Erwin. Get help._ He took a second deep breath and forced himself to pace slowly but steadily back to his room. He would get dressed, clean his teeth and have a shower, yes... _then_ he would go and find Erwin. The shower sounded particularly pleasant. Water over his skin-he needed that like he needed to breathe.

It was while he was in the shower that _It_ happened. There was a sudden, sharp pain in his mouth that made him wince, and he felt one of his incisors wobble. With a shout, he leapt out of the shower and felt his mouth urgently. His teeth were coming loose.

_His teeth were coming loose!_

A sudden shriek of anguish echoed through the bathroom. It was like a nightmare- _exactly_ like a nightmare he had frequently, in fact. His front teeth were all wobbly and loose. With a slight _squish_ , more felt than heard, one of his canines slipped out of his gums. He spat, and it hit the sink with a cheerful little _tink_. The gap felt huge as his tongue slid over it in disgust.

He gave a small strangled cry and vomited, heaving into the sink due to a mixture of fear and horror. More teeth came loose and pinged against the cheap porcelain as the salty water came back up. He gagged and heaved again at the empty sensation in his mouth, heaving again and again until his stomach was empty and sore. The room seemed to whirl around him and he gasped for air that was getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Ah, Dieu. Dieu. Qu'esst-ce qui ne va... oh Dieu!" He coughed and spat, a final tooth hitting the sink. He panted for breath, slowly falling to the floor. "Dieu."

_Erwin. Find Erwin._ He hauled himself to his feet and hastily put on what clothes he could reach. At this point, he no longer cared if anyone saw him in his (admittedly stylish) pyjamas. His stomach lurched one last time in protest, but he staggered out of the bathroom and headed for Erwin's room.

He wanted to run, but his legs felt weak and shaky, so instead he tottered in a half-stagger down the corridors until he arrived at Erwin's quarters and pounded on the door with trembling fists. By the time he got there he was desperately panting and breathless, as if he was slowly suffocating. There was a grumbling noise inside, and the door opened so suddenly he fell inwards and collapsed into Erwin's arms.

"Jacques! Was ist los?! Mein Gott!" Instead of hauling the distraught Spy inside, he determinedly half-dragged, half-carried Jacques down the hall to the lift and took him immediately to his lab. He closed the door firmly behind them and ushered Jacques over to the bed. He gripped the panicking man's chin in his hand and looked at him carefully. "Now, tell me vhat is wrong."

"Tout! Mes dents! Tellement chaud ... trop chaud ..." Jacques babbled, trying to get up. Erwin firmly held him back.

"Deep breaths, Jacques. Deep breaths," Erwin said sternly, idly reaching over to flick on the overhead medigun. "Zhe medigun is on, so you are safe. Now, slowly count to ten and zhen tell me vhat has happened."

Jacques gulped and held his breath for a second before letting it out in a puff. "I...I feel... and my teeth! They are falling out!"

"Really? Vell, zhat's unexpected." Erwin snapped on a pair of green gloves and carefully pried back Jacques' thin lips. Large fingers deftly poked at his jaw and he hissed as a stab of pain hit him. A finger jabbed into one of the empty sockets and Jacques retched. "Hrm, before ve continue..." Erwin grabbed a plastic bowl and placed it firmly on Jacques' lap.

"What iss _happening_ to me?" Jacques asked, hugging the bowl like a teddy-bear. He made the mistake of looking down at his hands. They were currently dark blue with black spots and covered with spikes. Not even remotely human. A wave of clammy cold panic washed over Spy as he realised just what had he had done to himself. He looked back on the last few days and realised he had been carefully skimming over the top of deep despair, grief and lingering guilt, clinging on by his fingernails and enjoying the ride before he fell into the dark pit beneath. He had been desperate without realising it. Erwin had offered him a rope, and he had taken it- without noticing the noose attached.

He should have known better. He should have thought before he leapt...

"I intend to find out." Erwin said firmly. He turned away, and grabbed a trolley of various medical supplies. He picked up a little vial of medicine and a syringe. "Do you vish me to give you somezhing to make you a little calmer?"

"Non! Jussst...jusst fix this!" Jacques spat out another tooth and groaned in disgust. He clenched his aching jaw. He wanted to run, but the last thing he needed to do was to avoid...all this. He could no longer avoid it. He looked through the window at the tropical sea as Erwin inflated a cuff around his arm and took his temperature and heartbeat. The sea looked calm and pure. Inviting. Just looking at it enabled him to breath more slowly and deeply, removing some of the panic.

"Take off your jacket, bitte," Erwin said, and Jacques did so without a single complaint. Fingers ran along the lines of his ribs, making him wince as they touched sensitive and sore skin. Finally, Erwin opened his mouth again, carefully feeling along the hollow sockets where his teeth had been. From the feeling of it, most of his front teeth had gone, plus a few of his molars. He tried not to gag again.

"Tell me what'sss wrong," He hissed.

"Vell, zhis is fascinating," Erwin said with an eager smile and a nod. "It seems zhe transformation process isn't complete. You are undergoing further bodily changes."

" _What_ changesss?" He cleared his throat. Speaking with missing teeth was difficult.

"Let me zhink about zhis...hmm, ja, Variola major can have a second stage of infection, vhere zhe virus enters zhe bloodstream. It only happens in less zhan ten percent of cases! I zhink zhat is happening now, causing more changes zhan expected. Zhe really _interesting_ question is vhy..."

"WHAT CHANGESSSS?!" Jacques demanded, grabbing the front of Medic's shirt and pulling him close. Erwin carefully detached his hand and pushed him back.

"Vell, first of all, your teezh are being replaced by a cartilaginous structure, similar to a cephalopod's beak. I can feel zhem in zhe gum line. Very sharp! Zhere is also some sort of bony structure developing in your chest, along vizh lesions in zhe intercostal region between zhe lowest zhree non-floating ribs. Finally, you feel very hot, ja?"

"Yess."

"Your body temperature is dropping. You are shedding excess heat."

"Am I...dying?" Jacques asked hesitantly.

"I don't zhink so. I believe you are becoming ectothermic," Erwin said. "Zhe common but inaccurate term is 'cold-blooded'. Vonce you stabilise, you vill find you vill need far less to eat, but vill engage in instinctive heat-seeking behaviour."

"Pleasse. You can fix thiss?" Jacques pleaded, clutching at Erwin's sleeve.

"Ah...not immediately," Erwin said apologetically. "Ve need zhe process to finish and zhen...I shall have to zhink of somezhing. Since zhe changes are at zhe genome level, zhe medigun vill only keep you in your current, heh, condition. Surgery, perhaps? I know: skin grafts! Perhaps organ transplants..."

"Thiss isss a nightmare," Jacques murmured. He looked up at Erwin accusingly. "I did not agree to thiss!"

"Complications can happen in any surgery- you know zhat, surely? It's all very...oh!" Erwin suddenly stopped talking and looked thoughtful.

"What? What iss it?!" Jacques demanded.

"Maybe zhe DNA sample I took vas contaminated? I was feeding zhe octopus dead crabs, remember? I bet some crab genome snuck in."

Jacques felt like vomiting again, but his aching stomach was completely empty. "Are you ssaying that you have accidentally _turned me into a crab_?!"

"Only maybe. Ve vill know more vhen you stabilise into your new form," Erwin said. "Look at zhe bright side: zhis is a unique experience no one else has ever gone zhrough! Isn't zhat fascinating?"

"Putain!" Jacques looked up at the doctor. His eyes glittered behind his small round spectacles. "You're inssane. You are _utterly mad._ "

"Many have said so," Erwin said with a shrug. "But look at vhat ve have achieved! Zhis is a miracle of medicine."

"Fix. Thisss," Jacques growled.

"I vill do my best, I promise. Right now, zhough, all ve can do is vait."

Jacques launched himself at the doctor, his hands grabbing his neck. Erwin just made a disapproving noise and detached his weakened fingers with insulting ease. He was far stronger than Jacques. Too strong. He calmly pushed Jacques back onto the bed.

"Now, now, I can't allow zhat." There was a small stabbing prick in his arm, and the world started to spin...and then faded completely.

* * *

The bees buzzed in the warm morning air as Tyler knelt and dug holes to plant lavender. Couldn't have his hive going hungry. Lavender honey- now that would be real delicious! Maybe he'd even go along with Malcolm's suggestion and try making mead...

His trowel dug down and he cringed slightly as he shifted the dry dirt to one side. A centipede crawled about in panic. Gardening was so...random. The soil was never the same twice and you could never say for certain that _anything_ would grow. Still, from what he'd read, lavender would have a good chance in a sunny position like this...

The peace and quiet was suddenly pierced by the roar of air and the whirr of jet engines. "Hey, hardhat! You gotta come right now!"

"If you've scared my bees, son, there'll be hell to pay."

"Fuck your bees, there's some serious shit going down!" Scoutbot said in a high-pitched, excited voice. He hopped from foot to foot impatiently. "You wanted me to keep an eye on Erwin and Jacques, right?"

"Has somethin' happened?" Tyler asked, getting to his feet and wiping his hands on his trousers.

"Yeah! It's happenin' right now. I dunno... but... Jacques is strapped down on this gurney... I think Erwin is trying to kill him! You gotta come right now!"

"No, surely...Damn," Tyler snarled."Go get Pauling, son. I'll go see what's goin' on." He broke into a run.

* * *

When Jacques woke up, he fell calm and relaxed for a few moments. Everything was fine. He could take on the world couldn't he? However, there was a dark mass in his mind. _Something is wrong_. He could stay here and float unknowingly only for a little time- then reality would hit, and reality would be horrible.

He tried to stay in that blissful semi-conscious zone, but he could feel the blackness clawing at him, reminding him that the world hated him. A sudden pain in his chest made him gasp and startle awake. He looked about and moaned as his memory came back like a sock full of damp sand to the gut. There was a weight on his face that he quickly realised was an oxygen mask. His pyjama jacket was open and his chest was dotted with electrodes, and tube snaked up from his left arm to a drip. He tried to sit up to take a better look, and realised he had been firmly strapped to the bed. He struggled against the bonds briefly before falling back with a huff.

"Erwin! Releasse me right now!"

"Ah, you're awake! Sorry about zhat, but you vere becoming hysterical." Erwin replied, idly fiddling with an empty syringe. "You've only been unconscious a few minutes. It vas a very small dose."

"Sso, am I your lab rat now?" He spat. "Is thiss what you wanted? Ssome sssort of revenge?"

"Ha, no, of course not. I just restrained you so you vouldn't hurt yourself," Erwin said unconcernedly. He looked down at the changed man measuringly. "If you promise to remain calm, I shall undo zhe straps."

Jacques took a laboured breath. "I will be calm," He said. He ran his tongue over his missing teeth and shuddered. He could feel the little sharp points along the gumline.

"Gut, gut." Erwin loosened the straps, cautiously starting with the legs and arms before freeing his chest. "Zhe medigun is accelerating zhe changes, I zhink. Sooner zhis unpleasant step is over, zhe better."

"My legss...they feel numb." Jacques rubbed them but he could barely feel anything beyond a slight tingling sensation. He tried to move his feet and found he still could, at least. He supposed he should be horrified, but after so many hideous changes, he had run out of emotional stamina. There was another sharp pain in his chest and he hissed, clamping a hand to his ribs. The worst thing was that he was _trapped_. Erwin was the last person he wanted to see right now- but also the only one who could help. He hesitated for a moment. "If I..."

"If you vhat?"

"If I sshot myself...would I resspawn as human?" He found himself looking over at the sea. Cool, clear...and so close. Just looking at it gave him an odd little thrill of hope.

_Perhaps he was not so trapped after all..._

* * *

Tyler ran along the corridors and slammed the lift button.

"C'mon, c'mon, damn you..." He hissed, waiting and waiting for the elevator to come. Finally, the doors hissed open and he raced inside. As the elevator hummed upwards, he shoved a couple of rounds of ammo into his shotgun.

* * *

"Hmm, excellent question. I doubt it, actually," Erwin replied thoughtfully. "Your genome has been altered, so I suppose you vould respawn as you are now. So...maybe don't do zhat?"

"Could I have some water, pleasse?" Jacques looked at the sea. The cool, glittering blue sea. He sat up slowly, staring forwards. A new hunger was building in his altered body. A need. A demand. He started to unstrap the oxygen mask.

"Ah, ah, I vouldn't do zhat. Your blood oxygen is low. I zhink zhe unusual structures in your chest are interfering with your alveolar surface area."

"Water. Pleasse. With ssome sssalt in it," Jacques insisted. The blue sea filled his senses. New instincts from deep within his altered genome were talking to him in siren voices. He knew what he had to do. He _knew_. He had no choice.

"Water only. Saline vould not be healzhy. Just vait zhere." Erwin turned his back. Jacques slowly swung his tingling legs off the bed and removed the mask. He realised straight away that breathing was harder than he had expected. His lungs laboured to take in air. He would have to be quick. He slowly extracted the needle from his arm. His hand grasped the drip stand. Sturdy metal. Good.

He crept behind Erwin and then raised the drip stand high and brought it down on his head with all of his remaining strength. The doctor didn't even have time to shout before he hit the floor.

Now Jacques' eyes turned to the window. He raised the drip stand again and hurled it at the toughened glass. Sure enough, the glass cracked. He picked it up, and hit the glass again. This time, it shattered. Pieces of glass stung and cut his bare chest and face, but that no longer mattered. The sea breeze wafted into the room, making the heaps of paper flutter. The air tasted of salt and he could hear the waves foaming as they hit the cliff below him.

_Freedom!_

"Vhat zhe _hell_ are you doing?!" A hand grabbed his ankle. "Get back here!"

He kicked Erwin away, his foot connecting with the doctor's jaw. Erwin yelped in shock, but he still stood up and advanced. The warm breeze from the broken window ruffled his labcoat.

"Jacques, come back to zhe bed. You are not zhinking straight. Zhis is not wise," He said softly to the gasping, bleeding man standing on the edge of the building. Through clouded desperation, Jacques could see the bruise flowering on the man's chin. Erwin made a sudden grab forward, but Jacques' arm was slippery with blood from the glass cuts. "Ve can fix zhis. Stay calm. Come back from zhe vindow."

There was a sudden hammering on the door and the sound of shouting. Erwin's head quickly flicked around, but he ignored it and went back to staring at the desperate man standing on the edge of the steep drop into the sea.

Jacques looked out to the expanse of sea, and then back at Erwin's lab. He shook his head slowly, smiled...

And leapt.

"JACQUES!" Erwin scrambled forward, but he was too late. He slipped and fell on the broken glass just as Tyler burst in, shotgun at the ready.

"Oh God." Tyler said, taking in the scene. The gaping hole in the window. The obvious signs of struggle. Erwin's bloodstained hands were stretched out towards the shattered glass panel. "Oh God. Erwin, what have you _done?_ "

"I..." Erwin stuttered. He turned towards the Engineer, his eyes wide and glassy with shock. "I...don't know."

**In Chapter Twenty-Two: Ever seen Miss Pauling really lose her temper?**


	23. The Guilty Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we begin the third part of the story.I've done the 'splitting the story into three parts' in SITC, though, and I wanted to do something different here. The first part finished when the WPD got back to Peru.
> 
> I'm still pondering how the heck I've managed to write a novel-length story about a Spy getting tentacles. What am I doing with my life?! Ah well, nobody has ever called me sane...

_"Suspicion is the cancer of friendship." -Petrarch_

"Hands in the air, mister!" Tyler barked, raising his shotgun threateningly.

"He jumped! He smashed zhe vindow... and jumped," Erwin said, ignoring the gun pointed at him and staring out of the ruined window. He staggered to his feet and looked out of the window desperately. "Not zhere... Vhere is he?"

"Respawn, I don't doubt," Tyler said, keeping his gun level.

"Oh...ja. He just said somezhing about zhat. I told him it vouldn't..." Erwin's shoulders slumped and he turned around to face Tyler and then frowned in puzzlement. "Vhy are you pointing a gun at me?"

"Jesus, Erwin!" The utter confusion on Medic's face made Tyler slowly lower his weapon. "Don't you see how this looks?"

"How... vhat..." Erwin looked around him at the shattered glass and blood stains. At the dented drip stand, and the gurney with its straps flapping in the wind. He felt his bruised jaw carefully. "Ohhh... Schieße. Zhis is very bad."

At that moment, Tyler knew Erwin was innocent. _Nobody guilty could be that clueless and shocked. This can't be what it looks like._

"Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

"Jacques vas...ill. Hysterical. I had to sedate him, but vhen he calmed down...I zhought he calmed down, but maybe... and zhen he panicked! He hit me and zhen smashed zhe vindow and leapt out." Erwin looked back at the window. "He just jumped! Vhat did he zhink he vould achieve?!"

"Are you sayin' the fella had a pyschotic break or somethin'?" Tyler asked. "I mean, he had a rough time recently an' all, but..."

"Ah, nein, he..." Erwin sighed and looked down in defeat. "Gottverdammte. I'll tell you everyzhing."

"Hold onto that thought, Doc." Tyler got a small control panel out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons. "Hey Jed, Tyler here. Can you go keep an eye on respawn for a bit? Yeah, that's right. Spy Jacques. What? Oh, damned if I know, I'm just findin' out more. Give him a bourbon and don't let him outta your sight, ok? Let me know when he comes back."

Erwin looked at him questioningly.

"We Engineers did a l'il work on them internal comm circuits of ours," Tyler explained. "Sometimes, you really need another pair of hands in a hurry, you know?"

Erwin just nodded silently.

"So, start talkin'."

Erwin started to explain the events of the last few days. If it had been anyone else, Tyler would have thought he was having a joke played on him. _Giving a person octopus genes? How in Sam-Hill does he come up with these things?_

He told him of Jacque's desperation and determination, and how he had come up with the idea. At one point he started explaining the importance of protein envelopes in retroviruses, and Tyler snapped at him to stay on track. Erwin gave him a hurt look, and continued.

The more he heard, the sicker Tyler felt. Heck, he had always known his friend loved experiments- so did he, come to that- but this? This was monstrous. Even worse, Erwin didn't even seem to see that he had done anything wrong. Since Jacques had agreed to it all, he didn't think that there was any problem at all. Tyler found himself thinking back to how their originals- the Violet Medic and Violet Engineer- had been deadly enemies. For the first time ever, he could see why. He didn't like that one bit. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle and crawl in horror.

As he continued, he talked about how Jacques had mastered his skin-changing ability very quickly- like a natural.

"I thought he looked pale when I last saw him," Tyler said thoughtfully. "Pale, and kinda sickly."

"Ja, he gained a slight yellow cast to his skin when he vasn't concentrating," Erwin explained, "But he vas doing very vell overall. Until zhis morning..."

Erwin explained the 'complications' that had arisen. That seemed too mild a word for what sounded to Tyler like a total disaster. Tyler's stomach churned as he heard what Jacques had gone through.

"... and zhen, vhen I let him go because he seemed calmer, he tried to knock me out, smashed zhe window and...jumped." Erwin shook his head sadly. "I don't...I don't understand."

"Damn," Tyler said softly. "Just...Damn. Erwin, you gotta come with me now. You see that, right?"

"I need to check my notes and figure out vhat happ..."

"Goddammit, Erwin!" Tyler barked. "I walk in here, and there's been a fight and someone has leapt out or been _thrown_ out of a window! _Please,_ Erwin. I don't want to do this, but I must. You gotta come peacefully or it'll make the whole thing an even bigger mess."

"I... it..." Erwin looked about himself with sudden realisation. He turned and glared at his friend. "Do you zhink I tried to murder him? Are you arresting me?"

"No, I don't think you murdered him. But I do think it _looks_ like you did. And if you don't come with me to... Jed?" Tyler's head perked up as he listened to the voice inside his head. "He's... well, that's not good. Have you checked...yeah. Oh? Oh, _fuck_."

"Vhat?"

Tyler looked up solemnly into Erwin's eyes. "Jacques hasn't respawned. His unit says he's 'out of range'. You know what that means."

"Ja," Erwin's long face drained of colour. "It means he is... gone."

* * *

Jacques fell into the water, gasping as it hit him hard. He reflexively took a gulp of sea water, and then curled up as pain ripped through his lower chest. A silent moan left his mouth, and the pain became a tearing sensation that seemed oddly freeing- like a dislocated shoulder being realigned, or an itchy scab picked off a healing wound. He took a deep breath as his mouth opened in a rictus of panic.

It was then it hit him: he was breathing water. He flailed around briefly before grasping hold of the pebbly sea bottom and running a hand over his stinging torso. Blurry eyes saw fluttering red lines running along his ribs. Three lines on each side. Gills.

He threw his head back and screamed. No sound came out of a voicebox designed to work with air, and he curled into a ball and sank to the bottom.

He stayed like that for some time. Minutes... hours... some random amount of time. Slowly, muscles relaxed and he unfolded from his tight ball and looked around cautiously. The sea was crystal clear and filled with shafts of sunlight that glittered off tiny little motes floating in the water. He realised he felt far more comfortable than he had above water. He could breathe easily, and he was no longer feeling too hot. A wave of irresistible tiredness overcame him, and he swam over to the cliff edge the Institute was built on. He could see a little hollow there, buried amongst the outcropping corals.

He swam into it, curled up, and fell into a disturbed and nightmare-wracked sleep.

New horrors would await him when he woke up.

* * *

Tyler had marched Erwin along to Katie Pauling's office. Out of deference for his friend, he had kept his shotgun aimed off to one side, but it was obvious he would not tolerate any attempt to escape. Not that Erwin intended to escape. His thoughts whirled in his head. It had all happened so suddenly. Jacques had come to him in the morning, ill and panicking- and now he was dead. His friend was _dead_. He had tried to stop him, had _tried_ , but...

Was it a suicide? Or an attempt to respawn? Why hadn't respawn worked? Where was Jacques' body right now? Had it been washed out of respawn range by the tide before the unit could work? Had he drowned? Had he hit the rocks?

_Gottverdammte._ He was already under suspicion. Now it would be ten times worse. At least he had had time to put his little escape plan into action before... all this. He just hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

They reached Katie Pauling's office, and Tyler gestured with his gun. Erwin knocked, his fist shaking a little.

"Come!"

Katie was sat at the desk, scowling at a mound of paper scrawled with misspellings. Erwin thought it looked like Soldier's writing, but he had no time to comment.

"Miss Pauling," Tyler said with a nod of greeting. "We got a situation here, an' I felt it best I come straight to you."

Katie sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why do I get the feeling this is going to be really horrible?"

"Sorry ma'am, but it is. Real bad. First of all, let me just say that I might have my gun with me, but Erwin here came with me of his own free will and didn't make no difficulties."

"Oh God, that's a bad start," Katie said with a groan, rising to her feet and glaring up at Medic. "What did you do? Or should I say, what did you do _this time?_ "

"Explain it all from the beginning, Erwin," Tyler ordered.

Erwin explained the entire procedure, from start to finish, yet again. He had a bad feeling he was going to have to do this repeatedly over the next few days. As he talked, he saw Miss Pauling's face go first pale, then red, and then back to pale again. As he reached the end of it, and explained about Jacques' fall out of the window, she snarled and reached for her pistol. He tensed as she pointed it towards his kneecaps.

"No." She sighed, suddenly putting the gun down and clicking its safety catch back on. "You're not worth wasting a bullet on."

"I realise it vent horribly wrong, but I only did vhat Jacques ask me to..."

"You damn fool!" Katie suddenly snapped, thumping her desk hard enough the pistol jumped slightly. "You...you utter moron! How could you have been so _stupid_?"

"I beg your pardon, but I vas _not_ stupid!" Erwin said, drawing himself up and bristling. Anger radiated off the small woman. "Vhat I did vas zhe height of inventive genius, even if..."

"Yes you were, you...stupid, stupid, man... of stupidness!" She interrupted. "There was a _reason_ I have you all two week's compassionate leave. I spoke to Albrecht, I know you were all in shock when you got back. Traumatised. Drained. _None_ of you were up to making any life-changing...changes. Don't you know that people make damn fool decisions when they're stressed? You _should_ do, since that's all your group of incompetents _did_ while they were in Peru: make one bad decision after another."

"Hey, li'l missy, I don't like what you're insinuatin' there," Tyler warned.

"Call me 'li'l missy' again, I _dare_ you," Katie snarled, pointing a finger in Tyler's face. She swung round to glare at Erwin again. "Erwin, you ignored my instructions, my _orders_ , and now someone has _died_ because of your carelessness."

"He _might_ still be alive," Erwin pointed out. "Respawn is complex and..."

"If he is still alive, he _chose_ to leap out of a window rather than stay in your 'care', so that doesn't make you innocent," Katie replied. She sat down suddenly and rubbed her forehead. "God. What a mess."

There was a brief pause in the room while Miss Pauling drummed her fingers on the table with a _tic-tic-tic_ noise of tapping nails. She took a deep breath in, and then let it go explosively.

"Erwin, you're under Institute arrest, under suspicion of murder. I'm placing you in a cell in the correctional facility until I figure out what the hell I'm going to do with you. Just be grateful I don't kill you now and be done with it."

"Vhat?" Erwin felt his spine go rigid with cold. Those words. _Under suspicion of murder_. Yes, he was a killer- he was a mercenary after all- but this... this was insane. He couldn't be in prison, he needed to see Jacques' respawn data for himself, he needed to find out what had happened, to put it right... He could feel his world crashing down around him. His legs suddenly lost their strength and he staggered into Tyler, who held him upright firmly.

She pressed a button on her desk and a microphone snaked out of a hole and slid towards her. "Soldier, I need you to escort a prisoner to Time-Out Island."

"Yessir!"

"I'm not a 'sir', Sol," Katie said tiredly. "Round up a couple of others Soldiers. Don't let the prisoner escape."

"Yes...Ma'am?"

"And no mistreatment!" Miss Pauling snapped. "Remember what I said about the Geneva Convention?"

"You said it was important somehow?"

"Soldier..." Katie said in a low voice.

"Uh, yes Ma'am." The door opened, and two Soldiers entered, one of them still talking into his walkie-talkie.

Katie just waved a hand at Erwin. "Get him out of my sight."

* * *

Some time later, Erwin sat down slowly on the hard bed in the small room. He looked up at the deep blue sky beyond the small barred window.

Time-Out Island.

He was a prisoner again. At least this time his captors were somewhat trustworthy. He ran a hand over the clean, white sheets, and tried to unravel the events of the day.

How had it all come to this? _How?!_

He leant forward and clutched his head in his hands, hard enough to break the skin with his fingernails. It should have hurt. Erwin _wanted_ it to hurt. Sadly, though, he felt nothing.

Because, of course, his fingernails had been brutally ripped out a few days earlier.

"SCHIEß DRAUF!" He stood up and smashed his fist into the wall before sagging down to end up sitting on the floor, staring into midair.

**In Chapter Twenty-Three: The news of Jacques' demise gets out, and it's time to meet Sniper Lawrence...**


	24. The News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that this entire series of stories is about people making mistakes. Pretty much all the characters are fallible and do silly or wrong things. Is this a good or a bad thing? Or it is just in the nature of story-telling that there'd be no story if everyone was perfect?
> 
> Unfortunately, I gave up studying English Literature because I was rubbish at it, so I'm not really equipped to answer these questions!
> 
> Anyway, hi to my new readers! I see I've had a spike in readership over the last week, so I guess someone has been telling their friends about my stories. Thanks for that, and many thanks for coming and reading my nonsense. I hope you enjoy it...

_"To have news value is to have a tin can tied to one's tail." - T.E. Lawrence_

Pyro Minhuang always trusted his instincts, and over the last couple of days, his instincts had told him that something terrible had happened, right here in the Institute. He had had visions of storm clouds gathering in every room he had visited, blocking out the bright colours and rainbows. It was hard to say exactly what was wrong. Perhaps Carmine was back? Perhaps he never left?

Minhuang's gut told him he knew Carmine, knew him very well...but just as he tried to pick apart why while preparing lunch, the little-used tannoy system hissed and crackled into life.

"Attention, Institute staff," Miss Pauling's voice sounded in the mess hall, causing everyone to freeze and Spy Constantin to drop a pot of boiling rice.

"Putain!" The man rushed over to the sink to run cold water over his hand, hissing more curses.

"I have some really bad news, guys," Katie Pauling continued. "I realise a lot of you already know something's going on, but I wanted to make sure I had the fact straight before I made an announcement. Well, Spy Jacques went missing two days ago. He's presumed dead. We have a suspect in the cells and... damn it, you're going to figure out who it is, aren't you? Ok, it's Medic Erwin."

Minhuang looked around at Constantin, who looked back in bafflement and shrugged before resuming picking grains of rice off his mask.

"Please note he's only under suspicion right now- so if I catch anyone 'visiting' him to give him a hard time, you'll end up in a cell too, and I'll make sure it's the one with the broken toilet. And no bucket!

"Spy Jacques was last seen, uh, falling out of a broken window into the sea. He has not been seen since, and has not respawned. It's possible he's still alive, so please look out for him. He could be injured, so please give him all assistance and make him return to the Institute. Use minimal force.

"That's all for now. I'll let you all know if I find out more. Anna Pauling, Engineer Tyler, Demo Malcolm and Spy Marcus, please report to conference room 10. I'll bring the whiskey."

The noise in the mess hall doubled for a while before dying down into an uneasy silence. Minhuang looked out over the seated people. He saw Anna Pauling and Demo Malcolm, grimly getting to their feet and heading out. They angrily waved off any questions as they went.

Minhuang could see the grey clouds getting darker above him, completely hiding the cheap plastic tiles. There would be a storm soon. The clouds fizzed with an unnatural red energy, dangerous and threatening. Someone was going to get caught in it.

His gut instinct told him that he, Pyro, would be involved somehow. He could see himself in the eye of the storm, spinning and out of control... He shook himself and shrugged. Bah! He was just the cook. How could he possibly be involved?

Right now, he had more important things to handle. Like making an entire new pot of rice for a bunch of hungry mercenaries.

He sighed and picked up the pot.

* * *

Unfortunately, at the precise moment of the announcement, Sniper Lawrence was trying to wrestle a lobster out of its hiding place in his lifejacket, and did not pay any attention to the tinny little voice interrupting the music on his portable transistor radio. The lobster's claw snapped at his hand.

"Bugger it!" He yanked his finger away. "Right. You're lunch now." He grabbed the lobster's tail and extracted it, furious and wriggling. He threw it into a bucket of seawater for later and then looked at his finger in annoyance. He was so used to cuts and scrapes he barely felt them any more, but there was a line of dripping red on his index finger that would say 'Dinner' to any passing sharks. He'd better take a break until it had scabbed over properly.

He looked up at the tall Institute building. _Nah. Too noisy._ He spun the wheel of the boat and headed out towards what he considered his own little private haven. It was a small island, barely more than a sandbar, really, with a couple of struggling palm trees. It would probably get washed away in the next tropical storm, in fact, but for now, it was his. Huh. Come to think of it, they were getting close to hurricane season. Hopefully none would come through here- he didn't fancy being cooped up for a few days until it passed over.

Anyway, lunch time. He set up his tiny camp stove, put some water on to boil, and put the lobster in its bucket on the white sand. He paused for thought, and then put an old brown leaf on top of the bucket to shade the creature.

While he waited for the water to boil, he laid back on the fine sand and pulled his hat over his eyes. The warmth from the sun started to dry out his wetsuit, heating him up pleasantly after the cool water. His mouth tweaked in a smile. He loved the heat. Working for TF Industries up in Alaska had been a kind of torture for him, and not just because of the hideous work they did. The dark Alaskan winter always left him feeling miserable, tired, and badly wishing to punch someone.

He was just starting to fall into a light sleep when his bladder announced it needed his attention. _Bugger it._ He cracked an eye open and got to his feet with a sigh before padding over to the nearest tree. The thought of pissing in the sea never occurred to him- the coral reef had such a delicate balance of nutrients that a bit of extra ammonia could cause havoc to the local corals. _Well, the tree won't mind an extra watering, and no need to keep it in a jar right now._ At least his wetsuit had a 'convenience zip', as it had been called by the catalogue. He leant back, took care of business and shuddered in relief before rearranging himself and turning back to the pot of water, which was now boiling merrilly. He nodded in satisfaction and went to get the lobster from the bucket.

It was no longer there.

"What the bloody hell?" He murmured, squinting at the bucket lying empty on its side. He looked around, but there was no one in sight. He breathed slowly out of his nose and looked down at the sand. There were tracks there, but not like any he had seen before- it looked for all the world as if a mass of snakes had writhed across to the bucket and then slithered away. Even weirder: there was a single handprint. He idly measured his own hand against it. This hand was smaller than his, with long, delicate fingers. Perhaps female? He leant closer and frowned as he noticed the tiny indentations of what looked like long nails.

He snorted with mirth, remembering some of Demo's ridiculous stories of mythical creatures. He'd always put it down to the man being completely smashed the whole time. Perhaps the man hadn't been as drunk as he thought? Perhaps he had seen something...?

Lawrence's chuckled and shook his head. Mermaids! What would he think of next? Demo was just doolally. The hand print was probably old- maybe Miss Pauling had come here at some point?

He looked at the slithery marks and frowned. _Something_ had taken his lunch. Something big. He had noticed the fish numbers were down today, and there was that odd shadow he had seen the other day, like a black underwater cloud...

There was a crackling noise behind him and he spun around to see an empty lobster shell piled neatly on the white sand. He stared at it as it rocked to a halt.

_What the bloody hell is out there?_

* * *

"Right guys, let's get this meeting in some sort of order," Katie Pauling said. "You got the briefs, so you know the situation. So, I want to hear your thoughts on it this whole mess with Jacques and Erwin."

"This situation is completely insane," Marcus stated, blowing out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I can only imagine that they must both have cracked due to stress. Erwin's actions were foul, unholy and wrong, and he deserves to be punished. I shudder to imagine what Jacques must have gone through." Marcus shivered briefly and took another drag of his cigarette.

"Wait a second there, I can't say I approve of Erwin's actions, but isn't experimentin' what we're here to do?" Tyler asked. "You know what Medic's like: if you didn't want him to do what he's best at, why have him here at all?"

"You read the logs, laddie, how can ye possibly defend him?" Malcolm asked, shaking his head sadly. "It's a shocking, bad business. What he did was bloody _sick_!"

"God, this is such a _mess,_ " Anna said, taking off her glasses and rubbing her forehead. "He crossed the line. Several lines. So many lines. He definitely deserves some disciplinary action, but I have no idea what!"

"Let's start with the basics: breaking my order of two week's compassionate leave. I did say that it was mandatory. They both broke that rule, but poor Jacques, well, I'll be lenient if we ever get him back. You know, if he's not dead." Katie looked down and cleared her throat.

The group nodded bleakly.

"The question is what else do we throw at him? Murder? Manslaughter?" Katie continued.

"Being completely sodding doolally?" Malcolm suggested.

"There's nothing in this journal of Erwin's that suggests he was trying to murder Jacques," Anna pointed out.

"Medic- no matter what else he is- is an intelligent man," Marcus said. "He would not write 'To do: Murder Spy Jacques' in his journal."

"I don't believe it was intentional," Tyler stated firmly. "Look, I know people, right? You all know that. I'm good with people. I understand 'em, even if they don't understand themselves. I didn't see no sign that Erwin hated Jacques after all that crap that happened. He just don't think like that. He didn't blame Jacques one bit."

"So, are you saying you trust him?" Marcus asked Tyler. "Right here, right now?"

"I..." Tyler paused. "Dag nab it."

There was an awkward pause.

"Let's change tack for a bit," Katie suggested. "Tell me what's going on with Jacques' respawn."

"Right, right," Tyler sat more upright and tapped his gloved hand on the desk. "It's come up with an 'out of range' error. Right now, we've got two other units doin' that: Heavy Sergei and Medic Gerhardt's, 'cos they're up in New York. It means that..."

"I think we can guess what it..." Marcus started

"Let me finish!" Tyler snapped. He cleared his throat and clenched his fingers. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be so short with you, but...well. Obviously, for Sergei and Gerhardt it means they're not close enough to be teleported back for reconstruction. What produces the error, technically speaking, is an inability to find the person, alive or dead."

"Alive or dead?" Anna repeated eagerly. "So...Jacques could still be alive?"

"I don't wanna get folks' hopes up, but it's an outside possibility," Tyler said. "We know from Erwin's notes that he was, well, altered, on a pretty dang major scale. I'm not a biologist, but if I read it right, even his damn _genome_ was changed."

"So the machine'd nae ken it were him anymore?" Malcolm asked hopefully.

"That could be it," Tyler admitted, "But in that case: where is he? I know you Spy fellas are vain, but, well, Marcus, you tell me: if you'd got somehow disfigured, real hideous-like, would you run away, or would you try to get it fixed?"

"I would find it mortifying, but yes, I would seek help," Marcus said. "I would prefer to be seen by as few people as possible, obviously."

"Precisely. I hate to tell you this, but he _did_ fall out of a window, right into the sea. The most likely series of events is that he hit rocks, got stunned, fell into the sea, drowned, died," Tyler said grimly. "And respawn couldn't pick him up 'cos he was so altered."

"Ah, shite," Malcolm said miserably. "Ye have to be a pessimist, don't ye?"

"That's the most likely outcome, I'm afraid," Tyler said, shaking his head sadly.

"So, Jacques is likely dead, and since it's Erwin's actions that stopped his respawn, it's his fault," Katie said solemnly. "Let me ask you all something: if you were asked if Erwin was guilty of murder or not, what would you say?"

"I would reluctantly have to say 'Guilty'," Marcus stated.

"Guilty," Malcolm said firmly.

"I...hm. Given everything, I'm going to say 'Not guilty'," Anna admitted. "This is just not clear enough cut. You know, innocent until proven, all that."

"Tyler?" Katie asked.

"Abstain," Tyler said quietly.

"And I say 'Guilty'," Katie finished. She drummed her fingers in thought and then suddenly thumped the table. "Three against one. The thing is, I know I'm angry with him, and you are all too. We're all involved, aren't we? In law, people aren't judged by those affected. So, we have to get someone in who knows the Institute, but isn't personally involved. Hmm. I... have an idea who that could be..."

"I...think I know whom you mean," Marcus said slowly. "He will _not_ be pleased."

"I know, I know," Katie sighed in resignation. "Let's hope you can convince him to help us."

"I think it will be...Wait, did you say it is _my_ job?" Marcus' sighed in resignation. "Bordel."

"Someone has to go. You're the best choice, you know that," Katie pointed out.

"Very well," Marcus said. He grimaced in distaste."I better take a first aid kit. _All_ the first aid kits."

**In Chapter Twenty-Four: Marcus goes to see this mysterious 'someone'- and they are not pleased to see him...**


	25. The Neutral Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, I left my keyboard for a second and came back to find my pet parrot stomping all over it. I think I better copy this again and check it for parrot-related typing.
> 
> It occurs to me that you might like to hear about some of the ideas I've rejected along the way in this series. Before I start writing a story, I make a plan first. This then gets altered as I write and come up with new ideas. Sometimes, things get discarded because I can't fit them in, or because I come up with an idea I prefer. So, here are some of the things I didn't write (skip this bit if you've not read the other stories in this series yet):
> 
> \- YNTGAH: RED Medic never regretted his actions and didn't try to save BLU. Dropped because who doesn't love a redemption arc?
> 
> \- SITC: The RED Heavy never left Teufort and died with the other clones. Instead, Gerhardt was alone in New Orleans when contacted by Violet Spy. Upon agreeing to work together, Violet Spy chose to use the Jemima Cordes disguise to pretend to be Medic's wife. I was kind of sorry to lose this idea, but I realised that a trio of main characters worked far better than just Medic and Spy.
> 
> \- SITC: The Administrator and her clones didn't die, but fought alongside the rebels in the final robot battle while dual-wielding cutlasses. Sorry, Helen, I dropped this idea because you deserved to die. Shame, though, it's such a badass idea!
> 
> \- SPS: Jacques' upset stomach was going to be due to eating people. A sub-plot was going to be Sniper Lawrence having to hunt down his carnivorous best friend. I decided this was too angsty and not relevant enough to the main plot.
> 
> \- SPS: Eagle was going to go berserk when he got close to the Institute as well as waking up all the other robots. Hermes (or Mercury, as I was going to call him at first until I checked my legends) then had to fight him and try to subdue him. I decided this was too predictable.
> 
> In an unrelated note, I'm going to declare that I'm willing to bet that Medic's canon name will turn out to be Victor. It fits the naming convention Valve has used thus far. If I'm right, you all owe me one unusual each, just so you know.
> 
> Ah, what might have been... Anyway, let us continue. There's a familiar face...

_"He that would live in peace and at ease must not speak all he knows or all he sees." -Benjamin Franklin_

**Boston North End, 24th August 1972**

Spy Marcus adjusted his tie nervously as he walked along the tidy and well-kept Boston street. The red brick apartment buildings were old, elegant and highly sought-after. To his left, he could hear children's laughter from the nearby park.

The entire area had a European charm that gave Marcus a brief pang of homesickness for Paris before he shook his head in dismissal. _Fool. You've never even visited Paris. You're only a year old clone, remember?_ He passed a group of tourists remarking on the incredible age of the buildings and stifled a snort of laughter. These Americans found anything over fifty years old ancient! It was oddly charming, in a naive sort of a way.

Then again, wasn't he American, really? Did he count as a native? He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose. Being a clone was so confusing. Who was he, really? More and more, that question had been weighing him down. The horrific events that had happened to Jacques had left him feeling queasy and out of sorts. _It could have been me. In some ways, it_ was _me._ Miss Pauling was right about this- none of them had the distance to treat this investigation fairly. How could he possibly judge a man who had, in one way, murdered _him_? He knew what _he_ wanted to do to Erwin- lock him up and throw away the key. Death would be too merciful and clean.

He turned the corner onto Hanover Street and looked at the house numbers. _This must be one of the nicest areas of Boston. He has excellent taste. But of course, I already knew that._ He quickly checked his pockets. First aid kit...sedative darts...disguise kit...cloak. Not that he intended to use them, if he could avoid it. Right now, he was disguised as a muscular blonde young white man that the Spies had nicknamed 'Wolfgang'. He was one of their standard patterns if they wanted to blend in with the general public. Marcus felt that 'Wolfgang' was a little too obviously handsome and clean-cut to really fade into a crowd, but right now, that was all to the best. In some ways, he wanted to stand out. He wanted to be recognisable.

He stopped outside number 435, and rang the bell for the penthouse apartment. There was a brief pause and he heard footsteps pattering towards the door, and it opened. Marcus smiled as the thin man with a shaven head, large expressive eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard looked at him with astonishment, and then growing anger before trying to slam the door. Marcus quickly jammed it open with his foot. The man tried to shove the door shut anyway, making Spy's disguise kit crackle in protest.

"Monsieur Sabatier, it's good to see you again," Marcus said, nodding in greeting. "I see you recognise me." A butterfly knife was suddenly pressed against his throat, but he just smiled at his attacker.

"Go away," the man glared at him venomously. "I am _retired_ , remember? I don't wish to have anything to do with... any of you."

"Théo? Who is it?" A voice called behind him.

"Just an old friend, mon cher," Théo replied, his voice softening slightly. He retracted the knife a little. "Go back to the party- I'll be there shortly."

"Party?" Marcus asked.

"I am celebrating my engagement," Théo said flatly.

"Engage...? Ah, apologies. I see my timing could have been better," Marcus said, waving a hand placatingly. "I must speak to you, but I can come back later, if you wish."

"Putain!" Théo sighed in resignation and folded away the knife. "I know you only say that because you _know_ that now I am here, I will be too curious to send you away."

"True," Marcus admitted. "However, a dire situation has developed. Otherwise, I would not be here seeking your aid."

"Oh, please," Théo said, rolling his eyes in annoyance, before leaning in and hissing. "Do you honestly expect me to believe I am the only person who can help you? I don't believe it. If you need another _me_ , you know what to do- _create one_."

"If only it were that simple," Marcus said, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. He offered one to Théo. The man grudgingly snatched it off him and Marcus lit them up. "We need you, because you have the relevant information, but a certain...distance. In fact, we don't need a Spy at all."

Théo frowned. "Then why are you bothering me?"

"Because we need the person you were before you became Théodore Sabatier. Before you became the Violet Spy, even," Marcus said quietly. He saw Théo's eyes widen with interest and smiled to himself. "There has been a murder at the Institute and we need someone who is not emotionally involved to solve it. We need a..."

"Detective," Théo sighed in resignation. "Merde."

"We need your help, Théo," Marcus said earnestly. "The situation...it is tangled, urgent, and getting worse, daily. I am sorry we had to disturb you, but we are desperate. It may be a tired cliché, but I am afraid I have to use it: You are our only hope. Aides-nous, s'il te plait. "

"Hm," Spy Théo said. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and blew a perfect smoke ring. "You had better come in and have some champagne."

"Champagne?" Marcus asked in puzzlement.

Violet Spy gave a sudden grin. "If you think I am leaving my own engagement party, you can think again. Come, be my guest- and later, we can discuss what you need of me."

"You'll help?"

"It seems I will," Théo motioned Marcus inside. "You had better keep the disguise kit on. It will...avoid confusion, oui?"

Marcus nodded and stepped inside.

* * *

"Hey there, Solly," Tyler said, strolling along the corridor of the correctional facility. "I've come to visit the prisoner."

"Which one?" Soldier eyed him suspiciously, not relaxing his guard one iota. He had a rifle over his shoulder with a bayonet attached. Tyler mentally shook his head. The man had watched too many war films.

"You got more than one prisoner in there at the moment?"

"Yessir! Scout Thomas laced Spy Albert's cigarettes with marijuana."

"You don't say?" Tyler said, his mouth cracking into a smile. "So, which cell is the li'l troublemaker in?"

"Scout Thomas is in cell 1, Medic Erwin is in cell 8, Spy Albert is in cell 3, and Heavy Anatoly is in cell 5."

"Wait, wait, why is Albert in here? And Heavy? He don't ever break the rules."

"Spy Albert got hungry and raided the kitchen. He ate five sandwiches Anatoly had been saving for Medic Friedrich. Anatoly found out and broke his wrist. And ribs. And arm."

"Ohhhkay," Tyler drawled, feeling slightly sorry he missed the show. "Well, I'm here to see Erwin, not any o'them."

"The murderer is not allowed visitors," Soldier stated.

"First of all, he's only a suspect," Tyler pointed out, tapping his metal finger against the palm of his other hand. "And second, I got permission from Miss Pauling."

"I'll need proof before I can let you pass," Soldier said firmly.

"Sure thing, fella." Tyler reached in his pocket and placed an item into Soldier's hand.

"This is a chocolate bar," Soldier said.

"That's right. Our li'l lady thought you'd be hungry, what with all this guard duty."

"It is good to work for a commanding officer who looks out for her men!" Soldier said happily, his mouth crooking into a charming grin. He ripped the packaging open with his teeth and took a bite before handing Tyler a key."Permission granted. Cell 8, down at the end."

"Thanks, son." Tyler walked past, feeling slightly guilty. Soldier was just too easy to fool, and it sometimes felt a little unfair to deceive him like this. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

The corridor was painted white and floored with simple, cheap lino. The doors had small barred windows set into them, but it was neat and clean, if a little bare. Tyler had never personally ended up down here, but he knew of other Engineers who had. The incident with the remote control, the camera, and Engineer Connor's robotic hand sprang to mind...

He opened the end cell, and Erwin looked up. _Damn, he looks terrible._ The Medic had deep shadows around his eyes and was unshaven. His face was a waxy pale and he blinked slowly as the door opened.

"Tyler?" He asked, his voice slightly hoarse and croaking. "I zhought I vasn't allowed visitors."

"Well...nope," Tyler admitted, scratching his bald head sheepishly. "But here I am. Thought I'd come and see how you were holdin' up."

"I...I...it is only a prison cell. Just a small room," Erwin replied in a monotone. "Zhat is all. Just a small room."

"Damn, Erwin," Tyler said softly, sitting down in a creaking wooden chair. "Shucks, fella. I know...how this must feel to you. Look, I thought you might be goin' stir crazy locked away like this, so I bought you some stuff to keep your mind occupied." He walked out of the cell briefly and then returned with a pile of books.

"Oh!" Erwin's finely arched eyebrows hitched up his high forehead. "Zhank you." Erwin gestured, and Tyler handed the stack over. Erwin quickly started looking through them, before stopping at one with an expression between annoyance and amusement.

"I just put that in for a joke, y'know," Tyler said, smiling desperately. "Thought it might make you chuckle."

"Hmph. Zhat Mädchen Shelley!" Erwin said with a disapproving sniff, looking down at the plain black hardback. "My fazher said his Urgroßpapa Victor told him zhat she got all zhe details wrong! Honestly, how could you be certain to get a lightning strike at zhe right time? And zhere is no mention of pineal glands at all!"

"Wait, wait, are you saying what I think you're sayin'?" Tyler asked slowly.

"Ah...no?" Erwin said slowly. "It's a story, of course. A silly fiction. Ja." He cleared his throat and looked away hurriedly.

"You know what? I don't think I want to know," Tyler said firmly. "Look, are you doin' ok? Can't be easy, being locked up in here."

"It...no," Erwin admitted. He got to his feet and paced back and forth briefly before sitting down again and running his hand through his black hair. "I... don't know. I don't know vhat to do. I don't even know vhat I _did._ "

"What did you do?" Tyler asked softly.

"I said I don't know!" Erwin said, his voice getting louder in frustration. "And, stuck in here, I can't even find out or fix it. Has anyone found zhe body?"

"Nope," Tyler said softly. "He's gone. Vanished."

"If ve could find zhe body, zhen maybe I could get zhe internal respawn apparatus to vork," Erwin said absently. "Zhere must be a way. Zhere _must._ "

"If we could find him," Tyler repeated.

"Ja." Erwin clenched his teeth, and Tyler could see the muscles in his jaw trembling. "Tyler, do you zhink I'm guilty?"

"What? What kinda question is that to ask a body?" Tyler said.

"An important one?"

"I...ah, hell, Erwin, I don't know!" Tyler admitted. "I'm sure you don't think you're guilty in your own mind, but you altered him while he wasn't able to make a good decision. Did you take advantage of him? Was that proper consent, after all the shit that had happened? Some even say..." Tyler trailed to a halt reluctantly.

"What do zhey say?"

"Nope, doesn't matter," Tyler said flatly. "Ah, hell. This is one bad situation."

"Tyler, you vonce said zhat if I turned out to be zhe traitor, if I vas vorking for Carmine, zhat you vould shoot me yourself," Erwin said quietly, looking at the floor.

"I did," Tyler said softly, feeling his stomach go cold and sickly. "But I know you're not workin' for..."

"If zhey find me guilty, and decide on a death sentence," Erwin continued quietly. He looked up at Tyler. In the wan light of the cell, he seemed to have gone even paler- a papery yellow-white. "I vant you to carry it out. Understand?"

"Medic, you can't ask that of me!" Tyler objected, his throat tightening. "I can't...won't do that!"

"Consider it my last vish. Zhe mercy of zhe hangman," Erwin said, looking down so his expression was hidden. "Every condemned prisoner deserves a last vish. Ve bozh know I vill be found guilty."

"You don't know that," Tyler said uncertainly. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly nauseous and tired. He hoped Erwin was wrong, but he knew who was coming to judge him: the Violet Spy. That man was one of the four non-clones that had survived Gray Mann's massacre of TF Industries. A non-clone, judging a clone. Would he be fair? Or would clones always be second-class citizens, even in the Institute? Were they all still expendable, replaceable? No, wait- Violet Spy had tried to free the clones, so surely he, Tyler, was being unfair to the man. Surely?

"I vish I had your optimism," Erwin made a sour snorting noise. "But life has taught me zhat pessimism is zhe easiest and best approach."

"You'll get a fair trial, I swear it," Tyler said earnestly. "And...guilty or not, you'll always have a friend."

Erwin looked up, blinking eyes that glistened slightly. "Zhank you," He whispered.

"Yeah, well," Tyler stood up. "I'd like to keep you company a bit longer, but they're gonna decide we're colludin' or something dumb if I stay too long. Hang in there, Doc. You got that?"

Erwin gave a sad, twitchy smile. "Ja, I vill."

**In Chapter Twenty-Five: Théo reaches the Institute, and Lawrence starts his quest to find out who's stealing his food...**


	26. Unusual Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of those that has a few tiny little details in that, if noticed, will make people's jaw drop. Mind you, I'm afraid you've missed them in the past. For instance, did any of you notice that Engineer has a robotic foot? It's mentioned in SITC. If you didn't spot that, shame on you. What is weird is I wrote that before the Roboot cosmetic item came out. Valve really need to stop coping my ideas! There are other little bits scattered through this series. I'll leave you to find them...
> 
> In other news: America: What. The. Fuck?! You voted for the narcissistic, groping windbag? I do wonder how long he'll last, though. Will he get impeached? Will he suffer a nervous breakdown? We can only hope. My prayers are with you, people of the US.

_"Behind every crime is a story of sadness." - Enrique Pena Nieto_

Théo got out of Marcus' two-seater and stood up with a resigned sigh, looking up at the tall building in front of him. The last time he had seen this building, it had been the headquarters of the Gray Gravel company- an elegant tower block marred by a blackened and wrecked top floor. Now, the top floor had been repaired. He could see where the explosion had been, though- the new concrete was paler and less worn than the old. Around this main building, the nearby islands now had bridges stretching to them, joining the entire complex together like a spider's web. Théo wondered if one day that spider's web would catch the entire world.

He had never wanted to come back here. After the defeat of Gray Mann, he had had endless nightmares that the robots had come back, or that he was still working for TF Industries, killing identical copies of himself over and over and over and over...

Sometimes, he woke up drenched in sweat. Other times, he woke up screaming. Realistically, he knew he had had no alternative than to retire from Spy work. He was completely burnt out and exhausted. How his clones kept going, he had no idea, but then...that seemed to be the way the cloning system worked. The only reason for it that Théo could think of was that they _knew_ they were clones, and that therefore the multiple tangled threads of responsibilities and obligations that followed one through life were truly severed for them. They really could make the 'fresh start' so many people dreamed of, but failed at.

One thing was certain: the three surviving Violets- Spy, Sniper, Demo- all had escaped or retired in some way. Demo had left first and joined the RED team in Teufort, years before. Violet Sniper, his sources told him, was rarely seen above water these days, and he, Violet Spy, had tried to escape and have a normal family life. He had mostly succeeded, he felt. Not entirely, but mostly.

As he and Marcus had travelled down from Boston to the Bahamas, he had heard the full story of Jacques' unfortunate fate. As the tale unfolded, he had rapidly lost his appetite, and by the end of the journey, he was surviving on cigarettes and nerves. He wryly observed that he had been starting to get worried about the effect his fiancée's cooking had been having on his waistline, but that this sorry affair would sort that out for a while for a while, at least.

He took a deep breath and paced towards the Institute. A shiny polished sign proclaimed the name, and he entered the lobby, his lips twisted sourly as he noticed a bullet hole in the concrete by the main door.

"Spy! Good to see you again. You're looking well." Miss Pauling walked over to him with a pleased smile, her heels tapping on the polished stone floor. She _still_ had her clipboard, he noticed. "It's a shame you had to visit us for such a serious reason. I'd be happy to show you some of our latest developments. Um, can I get you anything? You don't have your mask. I guess you'll be wanting one..."

"Non, merci," Théo cut her off quickly. "I am no longer Violet Spy, and I would ask you to remember that."

Miss Pauling went silent for a moment, her eyes flicking over him, before giving a short nod. Théo had always known she was an intelligent and capable young lady, but the last year had removed some of the old naiveté. _Some, but not all._ He schooled his face straight as he remembered a late-night conversation with Bobby and Rick after one too many glasses of wine... apparently, she was still very naive in some areas even now...

"Of course," Miss Pauling nodded swiftly, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm sorry I had to get you involved in...all this. Just so you know where to place the blame, it was my idea to summon you. Oh, and yes, I'm in respawn, in case you're wondering for any reason...anyway. We've prepared a guest suite for you. While you're here, you've got VIP status. Anything you need will be provided. Clara Pauling will be your individual aide. I'm guessing you'd like a rest before you start?"

"I would, yes. Could you send up all relevant papers to my room please?"

"Already done," Miss Pauling said. "Room 236, Marcus."

"Follow me, please," Marcus said, with a small bow. Théo nodded slightly in return. It was obvious his clone was used to meeting his exact doubles, but Théo found the whole situation rather disorientating. After all, he had met his clones many times, but only to kill them. He swallowed hard. He needed another cigarette.

"Lead on."

The Institute bustled with activity. Around the retired Spy, doors opened and slammed, cutting off snippets of conversations and arguments. He passed various clones in the corridors. It gave him a horrible sense of deja vu, since it seemed like he was meeting the same person pulling the same surprised expression over and over again...

"Srrrr!" There was the squeal of rubber boots on lino, and two warm arms grasped him in a tight hug. "Whhrrr hrrr urrr hrrrg hrrr?"

"Ah...Pyro. Good to see you too," Théo replied, trying to squirm free of the firebug's vice-like grip. He gave the masked man a weak smile. "I have come to visit, to help clear up the...issue with Medic Erwin."

"Hrr crrrn hrrd hrrt," Pyro said firmly, letting go of Théo and examining him at arm's length with his head cocked on one side. "Hrr hr urrkhinhh hrrrl."

"Kind of you to say so. I will do my best."

"We're in a rush, Tianlong," Miss Pauling said. "I'm sure Théo will come along for a chat later if you wish."

"Urrr hrr!"

"Surely it matters little which of my copies you talk to?" Théo said with a slight smile. Pyro Tianlong just made a derisive snorting noise and shook his head.

"Hrr hrrrlll hrriffrrreenhht," He said, holding up a gloved finger for emphasis.

"If you say so. I'm sure Engineer and Medic would disagree."

Pyro just snorted and shook his head again with a muffled laugh. He gave Théo another short hug, and then waved and walked off. Théo tried not to shudder. He tried to be pleasant to the poor soul trapped in the rubber suit, but talking to someone whose emotions he had no way of reading was... disconcerting. Pyro had always been fond of him, and back in the Violet team, he had often lurked on the edge of conversations, just listening and apparently glad to have his company without expecting anything in return.

He had had no idea who the man inside the suit was until that awful day he and all the rebels had woken up, disorientated, sick and groggy after two years trapped as the Violet Medic's experiments and he had seen Pyro's face for the first time.

It was a face he had seen a long time previously, but it just added to the puzzle that was Pyro. Why was Dr Adam Sheung Chinbao and his copies so fond of Théo, the man who had once betrayed him? Surely he should have been holding an impressive grudge against...

"Here we are," Miss Pauling interrupted his thoughts and handed him a key. "Erwin's journals are in there with what reports I could scrape together. If you're hungry, the mess hall is on the floor above, but I better warn you it tends to be, eh...silly. You know what I mean."

"I do indeed," Théo replied with an eyeroll. "I remember what it was like with just one Scout; what it would be like with, what? Thirteen?" He shuddered.

"Exactly the way you'd think it'd be," Miss Pauling said with a laugh. She glanced at her watch. "Damn. I better get back to work. I've got some documents that need burning... anyway, I'll send Clara along in, let's say, two hours. That'll give you some time to get orientated, right?"

"Yes, thank you." Théo walked into the large suite of rooms and prowled around. It looked like any large hotel room- clean, comfortable, and dull. He thought back to his penthouse flat in Boston, with its polished floors, Persian rugs, wide-open views, but most of all, he thought of Rachel, the way she smiled, the scent of her hair...

_What am I doing here? Why did I accept this stupid job?_

He sighed explosively and sat down at the table. There was a pile of documents there and he spotted Erwin's leather-bound journal. He dragged it towards him tiredly and opened it at random.

_July 25th, 1972_

_It still hurts. It's psychosomatic. I know that. Davi's techniques were not those of a well-trained interrogator, and the medigun has healed any lasting harm. Normally I would find this fascinating, but right now I seem to be lacking in patience. It still hurts._

_It is simply ridiculous. It was only pain, and I resisted it. However, I look down at my nails and I can see the cell, sense the clammy heat, even smell it. Such nonsense!_

_Memo: Is it worth removing the medigun limiter to allow it to heal actively dividing cells? Side effects would include excessive hair growth and skin peeling. Something to investigate._

_I need a distraction. I need to work. If I don't have something to do, I will go out of my mind._

Théo frowned and turned the page.

* * *

Sniper Lawrence brought his boat to a halt and stretched, his neck creaking and cracking. These days, he got stiff if he was still for too long, and his neck was completely buggered from years of sitting still for very long stretches of time. He reached back and massaged a lump out of the muscle, cringing as a _krsssht_ noise emanated from deep inside his shoulder. _Could see Medic about that, I suppose, but he'd probably just want to give me gibbon arms or something._ He snorted and smiled to himself at a thought. _I guess he could chop my head off and stick it in a box. My neck wouldn't hurt then..._

He walked to the back of the boat and started to ready his gear for today's dives. He connected his demand valve to the cylinder, checked it for leaks and then took a breath of the air. A sickly, oily stench taste filled his mouth and he coughed, spitting the mouthpiece out in disgust.

"Bugger it!" Lawrence sat back and folded his arms in disappointment. Bad air! Just what he needed now. Obviously, his compressor was knackered and taking in exhaust. He'd need to get it repaired before he dived again. It was a hazard in scuba diving, which is why he always checked the air quality before a dive, but it was definitely annoying. Still, he guessed that a screaming headache and chundering underwater would be worse. He looked back at the Institute. Should he give up for the day? He thought of heading back to his cramped room and those corridors full of people.

Nah. Too nice today to be inside.

Either way, his plans for the day were ruined. So, what could he do instead? He breathed out through his nose with a hiss and tapped his long, callused fingers on the steering wheel. Perhaps he could catch something tasty for lunch? That'd be a start. He reached down for his harpoon gun and his fingers closed around the trigger. Yep, a bit of snorkelling, and see what he could skewer for lunch. It was a fine plan. A thought struck him.

_If you catch a lobster, perhaps you could find out what that shadowy thing is. The one that stole your lunch the other day._

His mouth twitched into a slow smile. Now _that_ was a good idea! Fish numbers remained low and he'd had times since that day when the fish around him had all darted away, leaving him suspended and alone in the water column. _Something_ was out there, and he had no idea what. Even odder, sometimes he had felt that something was watching him, something intelligent. That was stupid, of course. It was impossible. Either way, he could easily find something edible while snorkelling. He would catch two meals and see if he could entice the apex predator, whatever it was, close enough that he could identify it.

He quickly assembled his snorkel gear, flipped his mask on, and then rolled backwards off the boat into the water. There was the roar of bubbles around him, and he could feel water surge through his wetsuit. It always felt cold at first- especially that moment when the sea water surged through his suit and reached his crotch- but he soon felt comfortable. The water was clear and there was no noise other than the sound of his own breathing in his ears. He held his breath and dived down simply for the joy of movement, soaring through the water until he reached the seabed. He grabbed hold of a sharp coral edge with his gloved hand for a moment to steady himself and look around for anything edible. He spotted movement in the corner of his eye, but he was running out of breath, so he darted back to the surface to blow the water out of his snorkel and get his breath back.

In some ways, he preferred snorkelling to scuba diving. He was tied to the surface, but the equipment was far less constricting and cumbersome. Before the robot wars, he had dreamt frequently of flying. Now, he dreamt of swimming freely through crystal waters instead. He took another breath and dived down again. The movement he had seen was, surely enough, a nice fat king crab. He grabbed its carapace and it waved its claws at him threateningly as he hauled it back to the surface.

Without spitting out his mouthpiece, he lugged himself clumsily over the side of the boat and deposited the crab into a waiting bucket of seawater. It was too warm for the crab, really, but it'd keep it alive until cooking time anyway. He let go of the boat and fell back into the water with a splosh. Bubbles chased around his vision for a second, bright as diamonds in the clear, sunlit water.

He paused for a moment, considering where to dive down to next when he felt his neck prickle. He was being watched again.

_Well, good. Here fishy fishy, got some dinner for you..._

So, now he better find something else to eat. He could see a likely hole in the reef down there, and there was _always_ something edible in holes like that.

A nearby shoal of fish suddenly darted away, disappearing into the distance. Lawrence looked around just as a parrot fish shot back into a coral crevice. The usual clicking of busy fish living their lives fell silent.

_Yep, you're here aren't you? So, look at me, I've not seen you, I'm just a dumb diver. Dumb, stupid diver. Come closer, fishy, come and see..._

He aimed at that dark hole in the reef and dived down. What he did next he was willing to admit, afterwards, was very, very stupid. He decided it must have been the excitement of the moment and his determination to find out what the predator was.

He put his hand into the hole and a sharp pain lanced through his fingers and palm. He was too experienced to shout and lose his snorkel, but his arm yanked reflexively, doubling the pain. He felt his flesh tear as something sharp ripped through it. Blood bloomed into the water, bubbles escaping from his mouth, as he struggled in sudden shocked pain. _Something_ had grabbed his hand in sharp teeth and was now trying to tear a chunk out of his skin. Worse than that, he was stuck and running out of breath. He yanked his arm again, causing another bloom of blood, but it was stuck fast. His lungs were screaming at him to get back to the surface _right now_ and his arm was starting to burn and tingle.

Suddenly, the sun went out. At least, it seemed that way to the rapidly dying Sniper. The water turned black and limbs, so many limbs, too many limbs, grabbed him and held him so tightly he couldn't struggle any more. Spots gathered in his vision and he stopped struggling as his body went heavy and weak.

_Why would it eat lobster_ , he thought with a despairing irritation as the limbs tightened firmly around him, _When it could eat me?_

**In Chapter Twenty-Six: Guess who rescues Lawrence?**


	27. Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had another huge burst of interest in this story. I find that happens, and that stories get more popular the longer they last! Whoever has been recommending me, I really appreciate it. Also, hi new people, I hope you enjoy the wild ride.
> 
> Well, this is the chapter you have all been waiting for: Jacques evolves into his final form. Put those red and white balls away, you freaks!

_"Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui." - Emile M. Cioran_

When Sniper woke up, many sensations clamoured for attention.

His hand felt like it had been ripped off.

He ached all over.

He felt shivery and feverish.

He was...not in respawn?

And oh, God, he was going to puke.

His eyes snapped open and he heaved, curling up on the sand as acid and sea water surged up his throat. Interspersed with choked-off curses, he heaved a few more times, and the roiling nausea started to die down as his stomach emptied, leaving his head pounding and his nose stinging. He lay on his side, watching the sparkles behind his eyes for a few moments before sitting up. For a moment, his vision greyed out, but he gulped and it slowly cleared.

"Bloody hell." He looked around blearily. He was on one of the little sandy islets in the reef. This one was tiny- just large enough for a little scrubby grass to cling onto life. His boat was floating just offshore, its anchor clumsily wedged into the sand.

Pain spiked in his hand and he looked down to see it neatly bandaged. The bandages, though, felt slightly damp and sticky, with little grains of salt starting to crystallise on the surface.

So...while unconscious, he had fought off a sea monster, swum back to his boat, dressed his hand and then moored at this little island?

_Nah. Pull the other one, it's got bells on it._ Someone or something had helped him. Someone who knew basic first aid. There had to be someone there...

"Anybody there?" Lawrence asked, looking around the empty sand bank. The grass whispered in reply. "Look, whoever you are, uh, thanks." He sighed in annoyance. He was talking to sand, for Chrissakes!

"You were bitten by an eel," A breathy, hoarse voice said suddenly, making him startle in a very unprofessional way. "You sstuck your hand into itss tunnel. Why did you do ssomething sso ssstupid?"

"Good question, mate." Sniper looked around to try and find the person talking. His head spun with dizziness as he moved it. That voice certainly didn't sound like a mermaid. "It was bloody stupid, I don't deny. I was looking for this sea monster that's been hoovering up all the fish 'round here. Don't suppose you know anything about that?"

"Perhapss," The voice sounded amused, as much as Sniper could tell. "That bite could be..."

"Poisoned, probably infected, yeah I know. I'll get it looked at. She'll be right. Look, who...er, whatever you are, thanks for your help."

There was a pause and the sloshing of water. The voice returned, little more than a whisper. "I couldn't watch you die again."

"Again?" Sniper asked. Silence. His hand spasmed and he hissed in pain. "Look, there's a crab in a bucket in the boat. It's yours. As a thanks."

"Passs it to me."

Lawrence smiled slightly. "Nah. You've gotta go and get it. I want to see what you look like. I've been chasing you for days."

"I know," The voice sounded irritated now. "You have been very perssistent."

"Famed for it," Sniper replied with a grin. He found himself enjoying this conversation, oddly enough. "So, go on. It's waiting there for you. All delicious and, uh, crabby."

There was another thoughtful pause. "Tell no one what you ssee," The voice hissed.

"Look, mate, nobody's gonna believe me anyway. So, promise."

"Very well."

There was a pause. A gull cried overhead and the waves chuckled up the shore for a moment.

"Uh..."

The water exploded as a figure threw itself onto the boat. Seawater splashed everywhere as it reached out a clawed hand and grabbed its meal, clutching it to its chest. Solemn yellow eyes turned towards the watching Australian.

_What the sodding Hell is that thing?!_

The creature in front of him was a mottled grey in colour, with touches of deep ocean blue and a few lighter white dots chasing down its sides in lines. From the waist up, it was human in shape, with a thin and delicate male build. The pink of gills showed through slits in its chest as it breathed. Below the waist though- that was where things went truly insane. Rather than a fish tail, or legs, or anything _sensible,_ it had a mass of writhing tentacles that shaded to bright blue at the delicate tips. It transferred the crab to one of these tentacles and looked at the injured man. Its expression was rather hard to read, but Sniper thought it looked expectant and a little nervous.

"Look, mate, I'm not being funny, but: What _are_ you?"

The creature looked down at itself. "I...don't know."

"Do you have a name, at least?"

It paused, its head on one side. "Not anymore."

"How did you get here?"

The creature crossed its arms in an eerily human gesture. The meaning was clear: enough questions.

"I've never heard of anything like you," Lawrence said in excitement. "Yer incredible!" He clutched his forehead as a sharp pain lanced across his temples.

"I...what?" Its tentacles stopped their endless dance in surprise.

"Oh, come on, mate. This is big news! A living breathing mer-person-squid-thing that nobody knew about! How'd you hide for so long?"

"Get in the boat," The creature commanded. "You need medical treatment. I will tow you back to the...to your Insstitute."

"How'd you know about us? I mean, you don't look like you get the daily paper delivered to your doorstep." He stood up and it was _then_ he realised how ill he was becoming. The world skidded sideways and he staggered with weakness, shivering in the hot tropical sun. "Ugh, bloody hell, I'm crook."

"I think you'll be rather ill for a while. You need to go to the hossspital immediately," The monster agreed. Lawrence frowned in puzzlement. This sea creature seemed oddly sophisticated for a raw-crab-eating-squid-monster. It...didn't fit.

"Ah, bugger it. I hate the infirmary. The medical care's good, but our doc's bedside manner...yeah, well." He took a step forward on rubbery legs, wading into the water to his boat. To his surprise, the sea monster wrapped its thin, slimy arms around his waist and boosted him up into the vessel. It then surged through the shallow water and yanked the anchor free. "Look, thanks for yer help. You've made a friend."

The creature acted oddly to that. It startled as if it had been shot and went stiff with shock.

"I mean it!" Sniper said earnestly. "A bit of company out here'd be pleasant. Nobody has to know you're here. Hell, I've needed a dive buddy for some time, but most of those wankers back home aren't happy 'less they're makin' a load of noise. That doesn't work in this job, y'know?"

"I know," The creature said sincerely.

"The only fella I know who'd be good at this would complain all the time. About the food, about getting his suit dirty, being too hot, being too cold, not being able to smoke...you get the idea. He's a great guy, but a bit of a poofter. A lot of a poofter, really."

"Everyone hass different sstrengthss and weaknessesss," The creature replied, its voice sounding oddly flat, as if it was trying to hide some emotion. The sea was starting to wobble dangerously around Sniper, so perhaps he was just delirious, but this sounded like yet another thing a sea monster would just never say. Before he could ask anything else, it dived underwater, and the boat gave a sudden lurch as it was pulled into motion.

The sea seemed to rise and tilt sideways as they made their way back to the Institute, and Sniper realised he was shivering violently. His bandaged hand felt hot and bruised, pain throbbing through it in time with his heartbeat. The sparkles on the sea were too bright, and he closed his eyes, but opened them hurriedly as the entire world seemed to spin upside down.

He wanted to think about this new 'friend' he'd made, but his brain just wouldn't concentrate and kept going off at odd tangents, such as pondering the colours of seaweed or why the sky had purple swirls in it. One looked like a chicken. Now it was a rabbit...but it had gone green. Look at those eyes! So many eyes...

There was a sudden bump and he opened his eyes. This place. The Institute. Yeah. Get out of the boat? Good idea. The tall building leaned over him as he half-rolled, half-fell out of the boat and into the shallow water. The cold water shocked him back into some brief reality, and he staggered and crawled up to steps that changed shape and size. They were huge, great concrete monolilths. _What bloody idiot thought those made good steps? They're ten feet high!_

Nah, no good. Maybe he could rest here. Take a nap. This...this soft bed would be perfect for sleep, even it did have a nasty green paisley pattern on the sheets. Yes, sleep.

"Sniper down!" There were sudden heavy footsteps nearby.

"Mmph, shurrup," Lawrence murmured, and passed out.

* * *

 

"Hey dude. So, how's Ma? You better be treatin' her right or I'll come fuck your shit up, you got it?"

Théo blinked at this outburst from the robot in front of him, his face not moving a muscle.

"Uh, well, she's not my Ma, obviously. I mean, I don't have one," Scoutbot hastily corrected, and then tapped the side of his head with a metallic ting. "But y'know, memories and all that shit."

"We met briefly after the end of the robot war," Théo said, deciding to move on quickly. Talking to a robot like this made his knife hand itch. Yes, the thing was on their side, but it was still a _robot_. And, apparently, just as annoying as Scout.

"You mean that war that I won for you guys? That one?" Scoutbot said pointedly. "You know, where you'd all have been blown to bits if I hadn't saved your asses?"

"That one, yes," Théo said briefly. "And I am personally grateful for the role you played in it."

"You should be, yeah," Scoutbot said. He tipped his head on one side. "Y'know, the beard suits ya. Looks badass. And, uh, French. Like, really French. Like, if a baguette fucked a frog, it'd give birth to you. _That_ French."

"Have you finished your personal critique now?" Théo snapped.

"Hey, I was trying to be nice!" Scoutbot said, raising his hands in defence. "I mean, you're proud of your country, right? So lookin' like you came from there is good, yeah?"

"Let us get to business." Théo breathed in through his nose and got out his cigarettes. He paused thoughtfully before offering the packet. "I presume you don't smoke?"

"Nah."

"Very well." Théo lit the Gitane, enjoying the first puff of spicy smoke as he drew it into his lungs. He then got out a tape recorder, and place it on the table between them and switched it on with a firm click. "So, I would like you to tell me what you saw on the morning of the August 21st."

"Heh, did you really say that? Just like one of those cruddy detective programmes," Scoutbot chortled, but stopped when he saw Théo's expression. "Ok, ok, I get it, serious stuff now. That's the morning Jacques disappeared, right?"

"Correct."

"Have you talked to Tyler yet? 'Cos he asked me to keep an eye on Erwin. Dunno why, but he said he was suspicious for some reason. He seemed dead worried about Jacques and Erwin, both of them. He wouldn't say why, but it was like he expected them to, uh, go insane or somethin'. What happened in Peru? Was it really bad shit? I wish I could get my hands on that Carmine, I'd fucking _end_ him."

"The morning of the 21st," Théo prompted.

"Oh, yeah." Scoutbot drummed his fingers briefly on the table, scratching the polish. "So, right, I was flying about and I thought I'd take a look in Erwin's lab, like hardhat asked me to. And fuck me, what I saw! It started with normal creepy Medic stuff- Jacques was sitting there, and Medic was looking at his teeth, like he was a racehorse! You'd think he was gonna put the guy up for sale at the nearest nag market or some such shit."

"I see." Théo had spent the previous day going through Erwin's journals with a medical dictionary and a growing headache. The man was undoubtedly brilliant, but utterly disorganised- his 'work' on Jacques was interspersed with reminders to darn his socks, various doodles of birds and recollections of previous surgeries he had particularly enjoyed. By the end of it, Théo had compiled a heap of notes a foot high, and vowed to become a vegetarian.

What Erwin had done- it was hideous, vile, and unholy. He had seen Medic, in his various incarnations, perform many questionable experiments through the years, but he couldn't decide if this was one of the worst or not. Théo tried to imagine what mental condition his copy must have been in to _agree_ to be a Medic's lab rat. It was a terrible thought. _I cannot imagine what horrors could possibly drive me to..._

"Hey, dude, you listening?"

Théo blinked. "Apologies. Go on, Scoutbot."

"So, he looked at Jacques' teeth, and it was fuckin' weird. Erwin seemed pleased with whatever he saw. Excited, you could say. Jacques, though, he was _pissed_. He attacked the Doc. No knives or anything fancy like the normal shit you Spies do- he just ran at him, fists flying. Well, Medic's stronger than he looks, so he had _no_ chance. Erwin just grabbed him and stabbed him with one of those creepy-ass needles of his, and down Jacques went.

"Then Erwin hauled Jacques onto one of his gurneys and fucking strapped him in! Like he was a mental patient or something. Then he wheeled some of those weird machines of his closer, and I decided I'd seen enough. I went and got Tyler to stop this shit."

"And then what?" Théo asked.

"Tyler told me to go get Katie, but then I heard some glass smash, and I decided I needed to go see. So, yeah, I flew out of the nearest window, but by the time I got there, there was just this big smashed pane in Erwin's lab and nobody about. There was, like, blood and stuff. It looked bad."

"So, what do you think happened?"

"Isn't that what you're here to decide? You know, doing the detective thing and stuff."

"I want to know your opinion."

"Ok, well, I think Jacques woke up and got himself free from those straps- I mean, Spies know how to undo knots and pick locks, yeah? He and Erwin got into a fight, and they got too close to the window. It broke, and Jacques was unlucky and fell out. Erwin was fuckin' lucky not to fall out too."

"I see," Théo paused with his finger on the stop button of the tape recorder. "Anything else you wish to add?"

"Nah, that's it." Scoutbot fidgeted for a moment. "How's Ma?"

Théo blinked and then smiled slightly. "She is very well. The ring suits her."

"Oh, uh, good, good." The robot's head suddenly jerked up. "Wish I could see her, but, you know..." The metal man gestured at himself and shrugged.

"It would cause comment,"Théo sighed and extinguished his cigarette, feeling an odd pang of unexpected sympathy for the robot. "Thank you for your time, Scoutbot." Théo took the tape out of the machine and carefully annotated the paper sticker on the side of it. He would have to transcribe it later for his notes.

"See you then." Without another word, Scout opened the nearest window and simply leapt out of it.

Théo shot up, reaching out to the window instinctively before slowly lowering his arm.

_Well, let's hope the other interviewees are a little less unusual._

He doubted that would be the case, though.

**In Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lawrence wakes up and sees a very disturbing sight, and Tyler has a confession to make...**


	28. The Illusion of Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried an interesting little social experiment recently, to find out more about sexism in gaming. I pretended to be female, and then entered mvm, to see what happened. I found something very interesting. If I had a gender neutral name and then said something such as 'Actually, it's not 'guy', it's 'gal', or made a remark about being female, hoo boy, the gremlins came out. 'Are you hot? Are you fat? Omg, no girls play tf2!'. Seriously. Are. You. Fat. They actually asked me this. Also, what age I was, etc etc. Classic nerdy sexism. However, when I played under an obviously female name, I had very little sexism at all- and if it happened, the perpetrator got quickly booted out.
> 
> So, the lesson I get from this is that if you want to capture a wild Sexist Nerd (Nohomo moronensis) in its natural environment, you must lay a trap and surprise them.
> 
> Anyway, enough of the anthropology lesson, let's have some story.

_"There is a higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supercedes all other courts." -Mahatma Gandhi_

Sniper Lawrence wasn't sure if he really passed out, or just went hazy, or what had happened, really. He sort-of remembered Soldier dragging him determinedly through the building, but there were moments that were just blank, and others where nothing made sense and all reason just slid away. Now and again, he'd remind himself that he was delirious and injured, and that was why he was spread across Soldier's broad shoulders in a fireman's lift. His hand bashed against the man's side and stabbed with a pain that shot right up his arm into his head.

Now he was somewhere white and comfortable. Medic just appeared by his side as if he had been summoned by magic. He said...something. A question, maybe? Words were too hard to understand. The man then held up fingers. _Oh, I can do this._.. He concentrated on the fingers. One. Two...where had he got to? One. Two...Three was next. Odd word that. Three. Threeee. Now the doctor was frowning at him, and he realised he had spoken out loud. The man thought he couldn't count! That was just bloody unfair, he hadn't given him enough time. Before he could protest, though, Albrecht had turned away and was wheeling over a tray of pointy things with points. Needles. God, this was like being drunk. So hard to think.

Time leapt again, and now he was in a clean bed with tubes coming out of his arm, a throbbing right hand and a medigun pointed at him. Medic Albrecht was fussing around with his bitten hand, dabbing it with something cold and wet.

"Doc?"

The man startled slightly before sitting on and giving Lawrence a pleased smile. It was a genuine, warm expression and it looked very odd on the face of one of the Institute's resident medical nutters. He turned to face the sick man and... _oh bloody hell..._

"Sniper Lawrence, you sound a bit more lucid now," He said in a pleased voice. "You've been delirious for some time. Can you understand me now?"

"Yeah, I can, but..." He refused to look at the man. The rest of the room seemed mostly normal. The colours were a little bright and everything felt a bit like a dream. He was awake, wasn't he? _Don't panic. It's not real. It's not real. It'll go away if you ignore it..._ "Don't think everything's right yet."

"I vould be surprised if it was. You are suffering from zhe injection of, vell, lots of vonderful venoms, and zhe bite is infected. Zhere is no specific anti-venon, so I've put you on palliative care. You rambl...ah, zhat is, you mentioned somezhing about moray eels vhen Soldier brought you in. Zhey are not poisonous zhemselves, but..." Albrecht shrugged as he quickly wrapped Sniper's hand in a cocoon of white cloth. It felt like he had wrapped lots of tiny thorns into the dressing, but Lawrence guessed even Medic wouldn't do that.

"They collect venoms from the stuff they eat, I know," Lawrence interrupted. A long-fingered hand grabbed his chin firmly and yanked it up so that Medic could shine a painfully bright light in his eyes. "Bloody hell, Doc! Get that thing away from me."

"So, how do you feel? Are you still hallucinating, do you zhink?"

Lawrence blinked, trying not to look at the little figure perched on Albrecht's shoulder. It gave him a friendly smile. _Now that's just bloody stupid._ He was oddly impressed at being able to summon up such a solid and realistic looking hallucination, though.

"Lawrence?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm still seeing things," He mumbled.

"Ooh, vhat can you see? Zhe hallucinations of a mental patient can be fascinating insights into zhe..." He stopped at the look Lawrence gave him. "Just tell me."

"Well, it sounds bloody silly, but I can see it, clear as day," Lawrence admitted. He tried to move his right hand but it just spiked with pain. "I can see a little Heavy sitting on your shoulder. It's been there the whole time you've been talking to me. He's dressed the same as your, er, pal, Vlad."

Albrecht went still and his expression changed. His lips went thin, while the corners of his mouth and one eye twitched. The little hallucination started to chuckle, and then Albrecht blinked rapidly and smiled, before breaking into that horrible high-pitched hooting laugh of his. The miniature Heavy swayed and grabbed Albrecht's shoulder for support.

"Sodding Hell, Medic," Lawrence said, sitting up in annoyance. "Mocking the afflicted now?"

"Ah...ah...no, no," Albrecht said. "'Es tut mir leid. I didn't realise... you don't spend much time indoors, do you? You're a bit out of touch... Vlad is real. He had a bad teleporter accident. I can see vhy you'd zhink..."

"Maybe few days ago I would be angry, but now is funny. Leetle bit funny, anyway," Vlad said with a final snort.

"Christ, mate, that can't be easy to live with. How'd it happen?"

"I tell you later. Doktor must finish examination."

"Vhen you came in, you had managed to dress your wound quite vell," Albrecht said. "I was very surprised, considering you are right-hand dominant. Soldier claims he did not assist you, but it looked like someone did. Zhey even used safety pins to hold it in place! How did you do it?"

Lawrence shuddered suddenly, thinking back to the squid-man. _Tell no one what you see_. There was no way he could tell the truth. If it even _was_ the truth- he'd been pretty crook. Maybe he'd dreamt the whole thing? But if he had, how had he survived? He should have ended up in respawn, puking his guts up! No, the sea monster had to be real. Had to be, and if he mentioned him now, the Institute would be out there with nets, tranquiliser darts and dynamite, and he'd never see it again- at least, not alive. Anyway, he'd made a promise.

"Teeth, mate." He said. "I held the pin in my teeth. Got used to doing things in different ways, out in the bush."

"Sniper has clever teeth," Vlad said, folding his arms and frowning doubtfully. "Too clever."

"You did a surprisingly good job in zhe circumstances," Albrecht admitted with a shrug. "Zhe wound is quite clean, considering. I zhink you vill recover easily."

"Have I got to stay in here?"

"For tonight, ja, but after zhat you can rest in your own room. No diving until it is healed!"

"Huh," Lawrence said grudgingly. He had to admit, he was tired and a chance for a little break sounded welcome...except he had a sea monster to track down. Maybe he could tie a bag on his hand or something?

The room started to slide sideways and he closed his eyes. _Ok, now you're being bloody daft. You couldn't even walk straight right now. You really think you could drive a boat, or snorkel?_

It was irritating, but he had to recover before he could go hunting sea monsters. For some reason, though, he had a feeling the clock was ticking, and the sooner he found out the truth about the squid-man, the better.

* * *

"Ah, Engineer Tyler, do sit down," Théo said, gesturing at the wary man standing in the doorway. "Coffee? You take it with milk and two sugars, oui?"

"Yeah, that's right." Tyler said, walking slowly and calmly into the room. Théo noted that he was walking a little _too_ slowly. He normally had a confident stride with a big of a swagger. _He doesn't trust me, and he has something to hide._ So far, this seemed an open-and-shut case- mad doctor murdered someone, was guilty as hell, needed to be sentenced. Théo found himself half-hoping for something more complex, something fascinating he could get his teeth into...even if it meant more time away from his new home. Sometimes he hated his innate curiosity. _Oh, be honest with yourself: you are nosey. Very, very nosey._

"Please, take a seat," He said, gesturing idly at the padded chairs. Tyler lowered himself into one, looking at Théo the whole time.

"Long time no see, Spy. So, what do I call you now? Detective? Is that the right handle?"

"Please, call me Théo. I have no need of labels nowadays." He shook his head briefly and handed a cup and saucer to the Engineer. "Unlike here. Tell me, how do you tell the various clones apart? I have the greatest difficulty differentiating between, for instance, Katie and Anna Pauling."

"You do, huh?" Tyler gave him a measured stare, and Théo was uncomfortably reminded that Engineer was far more than a towering intellect- he was also very, very observant. "Stay around us long enough, and you'll see everyone has their quirks. I mean, look at you- you look different to all the other Spies 'round here. Healthier, for one. You always did need some meat on your bones."

"Thank you for noticing," Théo said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He found himself tensing his stomach muscles to try and reduce the slight paunch a few months of good eating and rest had given him. He would have to go on a diet. Any day now, he would... _Bordel!_ He realised Tyler had quickly and efficiently put him on the defensive. Damn, the man was clever. He forced a smile. "Life has been good for me recently."

"Shame we can't say that for all of us, eh?" Tyler said. He tapped his gloved right hand on the table with a metallic tink-tink. "Shall we get on with this? What do you need me to tell you?"

"What is important is what you need to tell me," Théo replied. His hands reached for his cigarette case, but he restrained himself for now. "Look, I can see you don't trust me right now, but let me reassure you: I am not interested in a conviction, or any kind of punishment. I simply want to find out the _truth_. I am not your enemy."

"Never said you were."

"But you thought it," Théo countered.

"Ok, ok, I'll admit that," Tyler replied. He flexed his fingers again. Théo imagined the metallic digits under the glove moving smoothly as their tiny pistons extended and relays clicked. "Look, Erwin is my friend. Our group, the WPD, we're a close-knit bunch. We look after our own."

"You sound as if you know something incriminating," Théo pointed out.

"I...don't think you really know how much Erwin has been through," Tyler said uncomfortably. "I'm guessin' you know about the whole Peru mess?"

"I have been briefed on it, yes," Théo replied, picking up his coffee and taking a delicate sip. It was surprisingly good, although too weak for his tastes.

"Briefin', huh. It's not the same, believe me. It was hell," Tyler said quietly. "Erwin, he had the worst of it. No, wait, Tim had the worst of it, poor bastard, 'course he did. Erwin, though, he was..."

"Interrogated."

" _Tortured_. Call it what it is, Spy- uh, I mean, Théo. You know what? I'm gonna describe it to you. How we found him. Every. Last. Damn. Detail." Tyler took a deep breath, and started to tell Théo exactly what condition Erwin had been in.

Théo swallowed hard as he listened. Tyler had an excellent, possibly even perfect memory, and he remembered every cut, every bruise or burn with mathematical accuracy. He described the filthy, stinking wretch of a man they had brought back to the camp, exhausted, disorientated and half-dead. Théo knew about interrogation techniques- he had been trained to resist them after all- but hearing about it like this, told with the passion of an outraged friend, he realised something that had been told to him by his trainers, but had never really hit home before:

_Torture was never about the pain. It was about humiliation, and control. Take away someone's pride and free-will, and they would do anything, agree with anything._

Erwin was a proud, self-reliant man. He could handle pain- Théo had a lurking suspicion the man even enjoyed it- but he was perhaps the least well-equipped man in the Institute to withstand the punishment he had received, in terms of personality. Théo felt his stomach churn and he swallowed again, feeling a new sympathy for the crazed Medic.

"How did he recover after this appalling treatment?"

"He bounced back, so it seemed. 'Course, the dispenser helped there." Tyler frowned and breathed out slowly. "He seemed fine."

"You don't sound convinced."

"After that kind of a beating? You bet your ass I'm not!" Tyler snapped. He paused thoughtfully. "See, Medic is one o'those people who don't quite understand himself. You know what I mean?"

"I believe I do."

"Yeah well, I'm gonna explain what I mean, anyhow. He's a book-learner, same as me. Academic. Difference is, he's never quite gotten around to realising that you can't learn everything from books. Books don't teach you how to live. They don't show you how to cope when things go belly-up. I bet you a dollar he thinks he's just dandy 'cos all the physical damage is healed, and he don't realise you can't take a beatin' like that without there being long-term repercussions."

"I see," Théo said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage. Tyler was as perceptive as he had expected, but Théo knew from Erwin's journal that Medic had realised something was wrong with himself, but he had no idea what it was, or how it could be fixed.

"What I'm sayin' is that whatever you decide, guilty or innocent, bear in mind what he's gone through," Tyler said, his voice rising passionately.

"You are saying his judgement was affected."

"Of course it damn well was!" Tyler replied shortly. He hesitated. "An' I think the same was true of Jacques, poor guy. Dang, this whole thing is such a _mess_!"

"I quite agree," Théo said drily. "So, let us discuss Jacques."

"Right, right." Tyler reached for his lukewarm coffee. His hands shook. "Just...give me a few moments, ok?"

"Are you alright?" Théo asked in concern.

"Think so, yep. Diabetes is a hell of a thing, I tell ya. I'll check my blood sugar levels after this." He took a sip of the coffee and sighed. "Ah, shit. Never mind that. Let's get this thing done."

"Very well." Théo shuffled his papers, more for show than anything else. "According to Erwin's journal, Jacques agreed to the procedure that killed him. That seems...exceedingly odd."

"Yeah, I believe he did." Tyler rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "And...ah damn it! I might as well tell ya. It's my fault. God help me, this is all my fault."

Théo frowned and reached for his cigarette case. He offered Tyler one, but he refused. "Explain, please."

"What I said to Jacques one day," Tyler said, looking down at the fine wood grain of the desk. "I convinced him to get...changed."

"You told him to go and get injected with mutated smallpox?" Théo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, heck no!" Tyler said quickly. "He was miserable, after Peru. Hell, we all were, but he had been hit bad by the loss of Tim. They were best friends, as I'm sure you know. He blamed himself, over and over. Nothin' we could say would convince him otherwise. So, one day I went out to find him, mopin' on the beach as always. Not eating, not sleeping- you know the deal."

"Indeed I do," Théo replied. Stress always made him lose his appetite.

"He asked me an interesting question: Are all the clones really the same?"

"I may not be a scientist, but I can answer that one. Obviously they are. They are _clones,_ " Théo answered with a snort.

"Ah, c'mon Spy, I know you're an observant and smart guy. You know that's not true," Tyler replied, shaking his head. "I could go through the science of it all, but we're not, when it comes to the subatomic level and...eh, I better not explain it all right now. Anyhow, I told him we weren't, and I think he took it wrong."

"How?"

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. "Dag nab it, if I'd known he'd take it this way...he'd already decided Tim's death was his fault, right? And now I'd told him we're all different, according to hard science. I reckon he took this further in his own mind and decided this meant he was _lesser_. Bad at his job, bad at everything, compared to the other Spies. Bad at life. And he din't like that one bit."

"I see," Théo said, as noncommittally as he could. He could feel his mind racing: he, Théodore Sabatier, always wanted to be the best. If _he_ had made a bad mistake and caused the death of an innocent, he would do anything to assuage the guilt, wouldn't he?

In fact, wasn't that exactly why he had joined Gerhardt Weiss and Sergei Cherny in their crusade, all those years ago?

"He _wasn't_ bad at his job. He was unlucky, nothin' more," Tyler said sadly. "If I'd not spoken to him, if I'd kept my damned theories to myself... Ah, hell." Tyler sighed and bowed his head.

"He may still have agreed to Erwin's offer," Théo said softly. "You cannot predict people, Engineer. We are not mathematical equations."

"You can't always predict those, y'know. Ever tried simultaneously solvin' second order differential equations? You don't get an answer, just a number o' probabilities. An idea of what could be."

"Oddly enough, that is slightly outside my area of expertise," Théo pointed out with a slight smile. "However, I think you place too much blame on yourself."

"This mess is my responsibility, Théo," Tyler said earnestly, looking intently at the ex-Spy. Without his goggles on, he had a very piercing, diamond-drill gaze. "If it goes wrong, a lot of people are gonna get hurt. If there's anythin' I can do to fix it, I will."

"I doubt any would hold you to blame," Théo said. "Moving on: Scoutbot mentioned that you asked him to keep an eye on Erwin's laboratory. Why was that?"

"Ah, yeah." Tyler shifted uncomfortably. "I knew he and Jacques were up to somethin'. I didn't know what, but I knew what state they were both in, so I knew it sure couldn't be good for either of 'em. I hoped I'd stop them from doing something damned stupid."

"In retrospect, that was highly astute of you," Théo commented, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting a second one.

"It didn't work, though, did it?"

"At least you tried," Théo said soothingly.

Tyler just snorted. "You know what they say about good intentions."

"Of course. And it is nonsense. Without good intentions, nothing good would ever be done," Théo pointed out. "The road to hell is paved with _apathy_ , not good intentions."

"Huh. You're a better philosopher than I. Not really my area, y'know."

Théo shrugged. "Philosophy has its uses at times. I have a final question for you. I was wondering: who do _you_ think Carmine is?"

"Damned if I know," Tyler admitted. "An headcase with a grudge, seems like. I say we find him, we put him down, hard. Pyro Tianlong said an odd thing to me, though."

"Yes?"

" _'Carmine is one of us._ '" Tyler shuddered. "I hope to God that's not true."

"As do I, mon ami," Théo replied soberly. "As do I."

**In Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sniper Lawrence loses his patience and goes off to find his mysterious monster again...**


	29. The Shadow On The Reef

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, the name of this chapter is not a mistake. You'll see why. Secondly, many apologies if I've not responded to your reviews. I've been flooded with them (which is a good thing), and I think I missed some folks out. I'm going to go through my emails and reply to All The Things now. if I still miss you out, it's not out of meanness, but because I'm a dingbat with no short term memory. Seriously, I'm only slightly less forgetful than Dory!
> 
> Many, many thanks for all the reads and comments what things. I really appreciate them! Keep them coming while you read on about the world's most clueless Sniper...

_"All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." -Gallileo Gallilei_

Sniper Lawrence had badgered Medic Albrecht into letting him out of the infirmary the following morning, with a bandaged hand and a bottle of pills that tasted like piss. He knew from past experience that Medic would always keep someone in there for as long as he possibly could so he could keep him under 'observation'. He sometimes wondered if the man was just hoping that his patients would develop something horrific if he kept them there long enough. Insanity was certainly a possibility for Sniper. At least the infirmary had glass panes so he could see how to the open sea. It sparkled and glinted, and he could hear the gulls calling on the cool sea breeze that swept in through the crack in the open window.

Out there was the coral reef, and peace and quiet, and gorgeous natural beauty. Today, the sun kept disappearing behind small white clouds that had bubbled up, so the sea was sometimes a darker blue, rather than its usual bright blue. _Summer's ending._

Someone out in that dark sea, there was a mysterious squidman eating all the fish who was surprisingly good company. He had to find it again, and soon. After getting out of Albrecht's clutches, he had jam on toast with coffee for breakfast, and then wiped the crumbs off his wetsuit and set off out of his room to his boathouse. Officially, it wasn't _his_ boathouse, but everyone called it 'Lawrence's Boathouse', so what the hell, he considered it his personal space. Clutched in his working hand, he held a large plastic bag and a roll of duct tape. As he travelled down in the lift to the ground floor, he grinned to himself.

_Albrecht'd kill me if he knew I was off out again._

He arrived on the ground floor and walked past a Demo and a Scout.

"So, you think he did it?"

"Nae, why would 'e do such a thing? He'd have to be doolally."

"Yeah? Well I think he totally did. 'Course, he's stashed the body somewhere really secret so no one'll ever find it. Or got rid of it! Like, in quicklime or some such shit."

"Ye think that'll stop 'em from punishing him? Think again, laddie..."

The two walked past Sniper into the lift as he exited. _Huh. Must be some stupid whodunnit they're watching. Waste of time, those things._

He padded out of the entrance and down to the boathouse. The smell of petrol and slightly stale seawater greeted him, and he breathed in gratefully and then stopped as another unpleasant smell hit his nose. There was the slight smell of sweet rot in the air. Dead rat somewhere? Things just floated in here and got stuck sometimes. He'd have to check later. Right now, he had more important things to do. He hopped into the rigid inflatable and yanked it free of its moorings so he could set off across the sea. That done, he pushed the throttle and headed off into the crystal clear sea. The boat bounced across the waves, soaring over the top of one wave and then falling into its wake. Lawrence loved the feeling of freedom and movement. It was even better than driving his old campervan (damn, he missed that old bucket of a vehicle). Today, though, he couldn't waste time driving about because he had a destination in mind: The spit of sand where he had met the sea monster. In a cooler just to his left, he had an entire raw salmon from the mess hall. No doubt Constantin would hit the roof when he found it was missing, but this was _important_.

Maybe the squid-monster wouldn't like salmon, but it was all he had been able to get at short notice.

The white sliver of sand appeared in front of him, and he smiled and headed towards it, throwing the anchor overboard when it got close. He then shoved his injured hand in the bag and wrapped it tight with the duct tape. _Good enough._ He'd try to keep it out of the water, even so: human blood smelt delicious to far too many marine life forms for him to take any risks.

"Right, squid -monster. Let's see if you like this..." He picked up the cold salmon, sliced it to let some of the raw juices out, and placed it just at the edge of the water, and then sat back and waited.

He was normally good at waiting, but right now, he found it a lot more difficult than usual. His hand throbbed and his eyes kept drooping. He woke up twice with a snort as he his head dropped forward. Obviously, he was still weak from the bite. Not surprising, really- his bloodstream was probably still full of tag-ends of various toxins from the ordeal. After nodding off again, he woke up with a startle and looked up at the bright sun overhead. He had dosed half the morning! _Maybe this was a bad idea after all._ He looked over where he had laid the fish.

"Bugger it!"

The fish was gone, with a few tentacle trails and a ruffled patch of sand.

"Perhapss you ssshould try a box propped up with a sstick next time," A hissing voice said.

"Nah, mate. It'd float away," He replied with a toothy grin. "Good to see you again. Wasn't completely sure I hadn't just imagined you after that damn bite."

"You sshould sstill be ressting."

"You think I could, after finding _you_?" Lawrence looked around. "So, you going to show yourself?"

"You can already sssee me," The voice said smugly. A few grains of sand shifted in the wind.

"I can?" Lawrence looked around at the water. "Nah, can't see a thing."

Suddenly, the sand poured upwards into a man-shaped figure, which darkened to a mottled grey and turned into the squid-monster.

"Buggeration!" Sniper fell backwards onto the sand before picking himself up in embarrassment. "Shit!"

The creature grinned at him, showing pointed, translucent teeth.

"Huh." Lawrence brushed the sand off his wetsuit. "Clever. So, you can change colour like a cuttlefish, huh?"

"I can indeed. Thank for you for the fisssh. Sssalmon is one of my favouritess."

"Yeah? That's funny."

"I ssee nothing amussing about it."

"Nah, I mean funny as in weird. No salmon in these waters. Nearest'd be in Alaska, I reckon. You look obligate tropical to me. Not a sea-faring species."

"I am _in_ the ssea," The monster pointed out with a touch of irritation. "I can go wherever I wissh."

"Look, this is what I study, right? I'm a, uh, marine biologist," The squid-monster gave a slight snort at that, as if it didn't believe him. "You're not made for long distance swimming. You belong here, on this reef."

"Very well, I confesss. I...have sstolen fissh from your Institute in the passt," The creature said slowly.

"Yeah? That's bloody clever. How the hell did you get in without being seen? There's always people around."

"Why do sso many of them look the ssame?" The creature said, its brow wrinkling in puzzlement. Lawrence snorted.

"'Cos it's a weird place. But yeah, if you know that, I guess you have been in there. Used the disguising trick, huh?"

"Precissely." The creature nodded.

"You know, you don't talk like a sea monster," Lawrence said thoughtfully. The creature frowned, its yellow eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You sound, I dunno, normal. More than normal, kind of fancy."

"Why sshouldn't I?" It asked defensively.

"I don't get how you learnt English at _all_ , let alone speak it well!" Lawrence pointed out.

"I cannot ansswer that."

"Can't, or won't?" Sniper asked. The squid monster folded its arms firmly. A couple of tentacles copied the movement. "Both?"

"Both," It agreed. It paused, making an odd clicking noise. "How is your hand?"

"Hurts like buggery. Getting my wetsuit on this morning was a proper pain in the arse," Lawrence admitted, looking at his bagged hand. "I can't stand to be indoors. I feel better just being out here, in the fresh air."

"I noticed," The creature commented drily.

"Did I say thanks for saving me? If not, thanks."

"You did not. When I ressscued you, I think you said 'Aww, pisss.'"

"Yeah, sounds like me," Sniper said with a grin. The creature grinned back. Lawrence realised he was getting more used to those weird pointed teeth. They didn't look quite as odd today. "Why _did_ you rescue me? I would have thought you'd eat me. Isn't that what squid monsters do?"

The creature made a derisive snorting noise. "I did not wissh to get food poissoning. You don't look very ssanitary to me."

"What the bloody...ah, heh." Lawrence laughed and the creature joined in with a chuckle. "You're pulling my leg."

"Yesss. And you can't reciprocate," The creature said, gesturing at its multiple tentacles. It suddenly slithered back along the sand and into the water, disappearing under the waves before bobbing back up again with a sigh. Its gill slits expanded and fluttered.

"You off? I was hoping to find out more about you."

"I needed water," It explained. "It'ss hard to breath air."

"Surprised you can breathe it at all with those gills," Sniper remarked. He scratched his nose thoughtfully. "So, how about you answer some questions to say thank you for the fish?"

The creature narrowed its eyes suspiciously. "You can asssk."

"You're pretty bloody secretive, aren't you?"

"Yess," It said flatly.

Sniper sat in silence for a moment, deciding what was best to ask. Perhaps if the creature was less wary of him, he'd get more answers? _Got to be patient. What he doesn't answer today, I'll ask another time._ He blinked. Yes, that was as good a question as any to start with...

"Are you male or female?"

"What?!" Waves of white rippled across the sea creature's body. "You cannot tell?"

"Plenty of species have sexes that look just the same, mate," Lawrence explained. "It's only in cartoons all females have those big eye lashes and tits. You look male to me, but I thought it better to ask."

"Male. I am male."

"Right, ok." Sniper paused for thought. "Are there more of you?"

"No."

"Just you? No others?"

"Jussst me."

"So where did you come from, then? Did you race die out or something?"

The sea monster just looked at him silently, blinking his yellow eyes.

"Did you...kill off your race somehow? By accident? On purpose?"

"No!" The creature's tentacles writhed in dismay. "There are no othersss. There have never been any otherss."

"That's not possible!" Sniper protested. "You must have come from _somewhere_."

"I did."

"Huh?"

"I did come from _sssomewhere_."

"So, where?"

Silence again.

"Must be pretty sodding lonely," Lawrence commented. The creature looked at him, and nodded quickly. "That's why you were following me?"

"You weren't ssuppossed to ssee me, but then you got injured," He explained, waving a clawed hand. "I had to help."

"I'd have been alright," Sniper reassured him. "I've got...yeah, well, there's these machines in the Institute I'm not supposed to talk about. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

The creature cocked its head on one side and a patch of hairless skin above its right eye raised up. Lawrence chuckled.

"Yeah, look who I'm talking to. Good point. Look, you said you don't have a name, but I've got to call you _something_."

"I have no name."

"How about I call you fishface?" He said with a grin.

"What?! No!"

"Haddock-breath?"

"I do not ssmell or look like a fissh!" The creature replied, clicking in irritation. He grinned suddenly. "I could call you 'Pinksskin'."

"Not very unique, though. I know lots of people with pink skin," Sniper replied. "Call me Lawrence. You get thinking what you want me to call you. For now, I'm going to call you Squid."

"Imaginative," Squid replied drily.

"So, Squid, how about we go for a swim? I've got my snorkel with me."

"What about your hand?"

Lawrence flexed it and then winced. "Yeah, it's healed...mostly. Just some shitty stuff still inside it. She'll be right."

"Hmm," Squid paused thoughfully, "Very well." He turned and dived into the water. A clawed hand appeared over the waves, gesturing him to follow.

Lawrence blinked in puzzlement. The way Squid had said 'Very well'...it had given him a weird sense of deja-vu for a moment there. He shrugged and ignored it, settling his mask on his face and putting his snorkel in his mouth before wading in to the join the waiting sea creature.

As he lowered himself down into the pleasantly cool water, he saw Squid gracefully swim away in front of him. His eyes widened as he watched the alien, yet oddly beautiful creature glide along, sparkling sunlight rippling along his back. Bubbles streamed out of his gills and glittered like jewels as they rose to the surface. Sniper paddled after, feeling like a tug boat trying to catch up with an elegant yacht when Squid turned around and grinned at him wickedly as night suddenly fell.

_Wha..._

The sea went black around him and he thrashed for a moment, trying to follow Squid in the sudden darkness. Light slowly came back- and the sea was empty.

_The shadow on the reef. Octopus ink. Well, bugger me._

Sniper smiled to himself. Squid could hide, camouflage, and disappear in a cloud of smoke- he'd make one hell of a Spy!

**In Chapter Twenty-Nine: Théo is almost ready to draw a conclusion, but he needs more evidence. Will he find it?**


	30. Find The Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story is rapidly becoming overwhelming! My apologies if I'm not keeping up with replies on reviews, but I do appreciate every single reader, reviewer, kudosser and commenter.
> 
> As you may have noticed, one of the themes of this story is the nature of guilt. So, readers, what are your opinions on Erwin's actions? How guilty is he? What would you decide in Théo's position?
> 
> Your opinion may change by the end of this chapter...

_"You have to get behind someone before you can stab them in the back." - Théodore Sabatier (and others anon)_

Théo held the wooden box carefully, making sure he avoided getting his fingers too near any of the round holes. He nodded at Soldier, and made his way to the end of the cell block. He knocked politely and then let himself into the room, carefully locking it behind him.

Medic Erwin looked up blearily from the desk, his book dropping with a dull thud. His bloodshot eyes examined Théo for a second.

"Vell, I'm surprised to see _you_ here."

"I was asked to come and investigate your case," Théo said softly.

"Really?" Erwin got up and folded his hands behind his back. "Vhy you?"

"I have something of a background in..."

"Coooooo!"

"Vhat...Kepler?" Erwin's eyes widened with hope, and he lifted his glasses and peered into the box, one corner of his mouth twitching.

"Ah, yes." Théo put the box down and opened the lid. The little white half-dove half-peacock flew out and landed on Erwin's head, determinedly tangling his hair into a shaggy mop.

"Mein hübsche Taube!" Erwin scooped the bird up and he stepped onto one of the man's fingers. "Ach, Papa hat dich vermisst! So hübsche ...so hübsche..." Kepler flared his peacock tail briefly before bobbing his head to accept a tickling finger on his neck.

Théo cleared his throat pointedly, and Erwin looked up.

"I thought you may enjoy the company. I've arranged for Kepler to stay with you here. His, ah, belongings will arrive shortly."

"Danke. Vielen dank. I vas missing him," Erwin said, looking back down at the dove and carrying on with his petting.

"May I sit down?"

"I can't stop you," Erwin said calmly, although Théo could hear the resentment behind his words.

"True," Théo replied evenly. He looked over the doctor in front of him. Very much the typical Medic clone, but much messier. He knew some of the heinous things the Violet Medic had got up to, and had no difficulty whatsoever believing in this clone's guilt.

_No. Stop that._ He shook his head slightly. A detective had to keep his mind open; finding innocence was far more important than finding guilt. From Erwin's journals, he knew that the man had plenty of reasons to be angry at Jacques; his double had left Medic to be tortured to death, after all. However, he also knew just how, well, crazy, Medic could be if he got an idea in his head...

This was such a tangled, ghastly situation!

_Not much longer, Théo, and then you can get back to being a human being again...and this time, you will never come back here._

"I suppose you vant me to confess my guilt or somezhing?" Erwin asked bitterly as Théo carefully sat down in a cheap and wobbly wooden chair.

"Only if you wish to," He replied. He took out his tape recorder and placed it pointedly on the table. "If you prefer, I can simply hear your version of events."

"Rrgh," Erwin grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I am getting sick of telling zhis story."

Théo took out a cigarette. "May I?" Erwin nodded shortly, and he lit it, taking a brief puff before continuing. "I need to hear everything- starting from the first attack by this 'Carmine'."

Erwin sighed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, and then told his version of the same tale Théo had heard so many times. As he got to his experience in Peru, Théo felt his stomach start to churn. Unlike Tyler's impassioned tirade, the doctor described what had happened to him in bleak, clinical language, shorn of any emotion. As he talked, he stared ahead blankly, eyes unfocused, as if he had placed his mind elsewhere rather than relive the story he was telling. Théo had seen that look before, and knew it meant that, even though Erwin had not given away any secrets to their enemies, he had been broken, all the same. Did anyone else at the Institute even realise that? The sickness in his guts turned into a still coldness of horror and grief as the man dispassionately continued, describing how Sniper Tim had fallen, and his attempts to revive him. Sniper. Spy's best friend. Théo swallowed as he thought of how he'd feel to see Sniper die- and think it was his fault, the way Jacques had. Théo knew that a characteristic of his was to assume _everything_ was his responsibility, but the downside of that was that he had a bad habit of blaming himself for anything that went wrong. So, had Jacques ask to be altered by Medic to deal with his guilt in an odd form of self-flagellation?

It was a hideous, horrible, and entirely possible idea.

_Mon dieu, this is such a mess._

Erwin continued, telling him about Jacques' request and their subsequent 'work' together. As he spoke, he lost his blank look and became more proud and eager as he explained the experiment in far more depth than Théo needed. The ex-Spy gently reminded the doctor that he had all the relevant technical detail from his journals, and the man frowned slightly and continued with a slightly hurt air.

Théo found himself leaning forward eagerly, and forced himself to adopt a proper neutral pose as Medic described his time with Jacques. _This_ , finally, was new information, and...

_Ah, merde. Oh, dearest Gods.._

Erwin was telling him happily how he had formed a weird and twisted friendship formed out of desperation and misery with Jacques, and how it had resulted in what Théo could only describe as an unholy alliance that had created a monster- and then murdered it.

Finally, Erwin's story drew to a close. Théo noticed he shook his head slightly as he described Jacques' sudden leap from the tower into the sea, and his fine eyebrows arched in utter bafflement.

"And zhen, Tyler entered and sort of arrested me- I, I zhink. Zhat is everyzhing, really," Erwin sighed sadly. "And now here ve are."

"Indeed," Théo said, stubbing out the remains of his third cigarette. "Could I ask you a few questions?"

"Ja, I suppose."

"It seems you considered Spy Jacques to be a friend, yes?"

"Ja, ve got on very vell. During zhe last few veeks, ve found ve had a lot more in common zhan I realised."

"It has been suggested that you could have had reason to resent him, or want to see him suffer." Théo commented, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"I...vould? Vhy?" Erwin asked in puzzlement.

"It would be human nature to have blamed him for your...unfortunate incarceration," Théo pointed out. "And you _did_ overhear him suggesting they leave you behind."

"You mean his coughing fit? But zhat vas just bad luck- and, you could argue, my fault! I advised him and Marcus to give up smoking, after all... Anyvay, not all missions go smoothly, you know zhat," Erwin pointed out. "Jacques was not zhe man who interrogated me...and he apologised many times to me for leaving me behind. Not zhat it mattered- he vas working from faulty data, and drew zhe wrong conclusion. Once he knew zhe real facts, he abandoned zhe hypothesis."

"So, would you say you bear him no ill will?" Théo persisted.

"Of course I don't!"

"Hm." Théo stood up, fastidiously brushing off his trousers as he did so. "I think that is all I wished to ask you for now."

"If I..." Erwin cleared his throat and looked down hurriedly. "Vhat are your current conclusions, Violet Spy?"

"Apologies, I cannot discuss that," Théo replied softly. "However, I will remind you that I know the difference between justice and revenge, unlike so many others. I am interested in justice and the truth, nothing more."

"And if you can't find zhe truth?" Erwin asked pointedly.

"Innocent until guilty, docteur. If there is any doubt, you will go free. You have my promise on this."

"I _am_ innocent," Erwin said fiercely. He rose to his feet, towering over the smaller man and glared down at him. "No matter what you find out, I vill know zhe truth. I vill look you in zhe eye, and you vill know you condemned an innocent man."

"Thank you for your assistance. I have all I need for now," Théo said shortly, holding his gaze fearlessly. "We will meet again soon, I have no doubt."

Théo gave a short nod, and left. He lit up yet another cigarette as he left the cell, musing on how many criminals over the years he had seen that loudly proclaimed their innocence even with the most direct of evidence in front of them. If only investigations were like those on television, where it was always obvious what the crime was and how and why it had been committed! In practice, though, Théo could not think of a single example of a case where things had ever been that simple. Real life never had simple answers. Real life never had the whole truth.

Was that not why he had accepted TF Industries offer in the first place? It had been a chance to do something obviously good- to save the world from the actions of two insane brothers. Clean, simple and pure.

And in doing so, he had committed crimes he would regret the rest of his life.

"Fetch Miss Pauling, s'il vous plait," He said to Soldier as he reached the end of the corridor. "I am ready to draw my conclusions."

* * *

He plodded on towards the main building.

Grey were rolling in as Sniper Lawrence navigated back to the Institute. He looked up briefly with a slight frown. _Huh. Summer won't last much longer._ However, a few clouds couldn't dampen his high spirits as he steered his craft back into the boathouse and hopped over the side. He carefully moored the boat and then sniffed the air with a grimace. That smell of sweet rot he had noticed earlier still lingered.

_What the bloody hell is it?_

He padded around the boathouse, searching to find where the stink was coming from...

* * *

A short time later, a group was gathered in one of the Institute's conference rooms, eager to hear what Théo had found out. The remaining members of the WPD were there, plus Katie Pauling. Pyro Minhuang silently brought in a pot of coffee and scurried out, obviously wishing to avoid this unpleasant meeting.

"Ok, so tell me your thoughts." Katie Pauling sat down with a frustrated sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and putting her clipboard down with a click. "I want to get this whole situation dealt with. It's driving me nuts."

"You an' me both, lassie," Demo Malcolm said solemnly, pouring a shot of whiskey into his coffee and then taking a gulp with a shudder.

"Very well," Théo replied, quickly handing out folders of photocopied notes. "I will take you through my conclusions. You already know most of the case, so I shall skip the usual summary of the situation."

"Go on then," Katie urged.

"This is a...complex case, with no simple answers," Théo admitted. "So, my first step was to clarify exactly which questions we need to answer. There are three in total: First, is Erwin working with Carmine? Second: Did he act out of malice? And finally: Did he murder Jacques?"

Théo looked over and saw that Marcus nodded slightly. Of course, his clone would have realised all this, but he stayed mercifully silent, happy to give Théo centre stage for now.

"But let me start with the simplest truth: Erwin is no traitor. I do not believe he is, or ever has, worked for Carmine," Théo continued.

There was a general shuffling of papers and shifting of feet around the table.

"Of course he wasn't!" Tyler snapped. "I don't need no detective to tell me that, son."

"There is not only no evidence to suggest any kind of a link, but also, I believe you have missed a...rather significant detail about Sniper Tim's death."

"Which is?" Marcus asked, leaning forward earnestly.

"Are you aware that Erwin risked his _own life_ to try to save Sniper?" Théo stated, turning to a page in his notes.

"What?! When was this? I mean, I was a bit out of it what with the chest wound and all, but I'd have noticed," Anna said, looking across at Théo intently.

"Erwin compiled a list of medicaments he intended to take with him to Peru, in case of emergency. He did, of course, intend to rely mainly on the medigun, but he had a few other supplies just in case: Bandages, insect repellent and aspirin, for instance. You will find the list on page four of my notes. One that stood out from his list that seemed a little unusual to me was this item, third down the list: Epinephrine, 0.1mg, intramuscular syringes x 4. Red bag." He looked at the blank faces around him and smiled grimly. "Yes, I admit I had to perform quite a lot of research on this. Erwin took this with him because of his own deadly allergy to bee and ant stings. It can be used to stabilise a person until they can be treated more professionally."

"Red bag...well, damn," Tyler said, shaking his head in surprise. "Damn, damn, damn. Colour me surprised."

"Ah, I see you have remembered. Epinephrine can also be used to treat cardiac arrest, as an injection directly to the heart."

"Oh God...so that was the stuff he tried to save Tim with?" Anna asked.

"Indeed. Even though you were all stranded, even though it had little chance of working, _even though_ there was a very real chance that he was placing his own life in grave danger by doing so, Erwin used his _own vital medication_ to try and save Sniper Tim's life."

"And he did not even mention it," Marcus murmured, examining his own gloved hands as if they fascinated him.

"Well, that pretty obviously places him in the clear. If your co-workers poison someone, you don't risk your own life to save them. It's counter-productive. Inefficient," Katie stated. The people around the table stared at her for a moment. "But, uh, a good thing to do, I guess. You know, moral, and stuff." She cleared her throat and looked down hurriedly.

"For Erwin, risking his life to save his patient was just normal procedure. Medic Gerhardt nearly died to save Soldier after exposure to nerve gas, remember?" Théo said. "And, as Miss Pauling said, one does not save the life of those you wish dead. Carmine wanted Tim dead. This much is obvious."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Why didn't he just _tell_ us, though?" Anna asked in exasperation.

"I believe it did not even occur to him to do so," Théo replied with a slight smile, before clearing his throat and flicking over the page of his note. "So: second question: Did he act out of malice?"

"We all know Medic is quite capable of holding an impressive grudge, if he wishes," Marcus commented, smoke whisping from his mouth as he spoke.

"An' he definitely had a good reason to want tae see Jacques swing," Demo Malcolm admitted reluctantly. "Hell, if it had been me, I'd have given our Sneak there a face full o' head, fer starters!"

"Oh come on!" Anna objected. "We're a team. Erwin was always loyal, even when we screwed up."

"I believe you are correct," Théo acknowledged with a nod. "Although it would make for a a pleasantly tidy little detective story, Erwin held no ill will against Jacques." He stopped briefly and stubbed out his cigarette before lighting another one.

"That seems unlikely," Katie said, tapping a pen idly against her clipboard.

"This is where it becomes a little...difficult to explain the motivations of Erwin and Jacques," Théo admitted, smoke slowly curling from his nostrils. He shifted uncomfortably. "I... confess I find this somewhat uncomfortable to discuss. Erwin's journal has a passage in which he discusses the...mental state of we Spies. He believed we have an, ah, innate weakness of the mind that he calls 'Endogenous Depression'..."

"What?" Marcus spat suddenly. "That mad quack called _me_ insane?! How _dare_ he?"

"'Insane' is too strong a word," Théo replied. "He believed that we have an in-built tendency to develop clinical depression in times of stress. Obviously this is nonsense- I know my own mind..."

Anna and Katie exchanged a quick look. Théo glared at them, and they both shrugged unconcernedly.

"... _However_ , it is apparent to me from listening to various people's accounts of events that the balance of Jacques' mind _was_ disturbed- for whatever reason." He gave the two women another disapproving look and sniffed before continuing. "What you may not realise is just how badly Medic Erwin's own mental state had deteriorated."

"Well, damn, I tried to get him to talk," Tyler said, rubbing his hand over his bald head in worry. "He just clammed up, said he was fine. I say no fella would be fine that soon after bein' tortured like he was. Even if the wounds heal, it's like a poison to the mind, and it gets worse before it gets better. Seen it before."

"I...did wonder," Anna admitted. "I couldn't see how he could possibly be ok. He said he was, though, and well, he's a _Medic_. He acts differently to stuff than I would."

"You mean he's bloody bonkers," Malcolm muttered.

"Succinctly put," Théo said wrily. "So, we have a situation where two people, both of whom had the balance of their minds disturbed, created a terrible situation."

"Doesn't matter," Katie said shortly. "If someone asks you to shoot them, and then you do, you're as guilty of murder as if they had begged for their life."

"And _that_ brings us to our third question: Did Erwin murder Jacques?" Théo continued.

"I think we already know the answer to that," Katie said shortly.

"There is the issue of diminished responsibility," Marcus pointed out. Théo gave his clone a quick nod of acknowledgement.

"First, let us define the word 'murder'," Théo said. "It..."

"Ach, come on, Spy! We all know what murder is!" Malcolm objected. "Everyone at this table is a murderer, ye ken, one way or another."

"One moment, please," Théo said, holding up his hand. "It is important you understand the legal definitions. Firstly, we have first degree murder- that is premeditated, cold-blooded killing, and carries the worst punishment in most jurisdictions. Second-degree murder is murder by gross incompetence or while under the influence of rage or jealousy. The _crime passionel_ , as we call it in France. Finally, manslaughter is the accidental killing of someone as a result of a person's actions not resulting in the outcome they intended. So, which are we seeing here?

"We now know that this murder was not planned ahead of time- so that rules out first-degree murder.

"We now know that Erwin did not act out of malice- which rules out second-degree murder..."

"So, he's guilty of manslaughter," Malcolm said softly, his voice filled with regret. Théo, however, held up a hand warningly.

"We cannot be sure of that yet."

"Why not?" Katie demanded.

" _We have no body,_ " Théo said, rising to his feet. "Jacques is, or was, a Spy- he is an expert at hiding. We already know that he has gained an impressive camouflaging ability, and that he was not... rational... when last seen."

"You think he might still be alive?" Tyler said in astonishment. "He fell out of a goddamn _window_!"

"Erwin's lab is on the fourth floor, and overlooks the water. He _may_ have hit rocks, but he may not have done. He could have swum to safety, bruised, but alive. Gentlemen- and ladies- he could be hiding within these very walls. Within this very room, even!"

The group shifted uncomfortably and tried not to look like they were looking for a disguised Spy. Malcolm just snorted though.

"Yer so full o' shite, Spy."

"Therefore," Théo continued, ignoring Malcolm's comment. "I cannot find Medic Erwin guilty of manslaughter until we find the body. You asked for my help, and that is my conclusion."

"So, you're saying innocent until proven guilty?" Katie asked.

"Precisely. Unless you find the body, Erwin should walk free."

* * *

It was dim in the boathouse, but as Lawrence rounded the corner of the boat, the smell got stronger, gagging and clinging to his lungs. He knew that smell. Knew it too well.

And there it was, floating in the corner along with a few pieces of driftwood and seaweed. Lawrence breathed out slowly. Life had suddenly become a lot more complicated.

"Ah, bugger it!"

**In Chapter Thirty: So, what exactly did Sniper find?**


	31. Unmasked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needs some sort of a warning at the beginning, but I really don't know what it should be, other than 'There is gross stuff ahead'. So, yeah, warning: gross stuff ahead. Don't read on a full stomach, I guess? I admit I'm not very good at guessing what will gross other people out, since years of working in biology has left my own sense of squick sort of skewed. I've seen so stinky or maggoty things I don't bat an eyelid any more- but dog poop really makes me hurl. I know, it makes no sense.
> 
> Anyway, well done to those who guessed what Lawrence found. It's not very often people can keep up with my gruesome imagination. Gratz, I guess? Also, get help.

_"The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever." -Jacques Yves Cousteau_

It was a human leg. It had the pale look of a cadaver that had rotted underwater, and whispy, feather-like strips of flesh wafted in the gentle currents of the boathouse. Brightly coloured fish nibbled hungrily at it, darting in and out of view. The knee joint was exposed, showing white bone and leathery tendon still keeping the joint intact and mobile.

Sniper Lawrence wrinkled his nose. He was no stranger to death, of course, but nobody sane was anything other than disgusted when they saw an old corpse, or parts of one. He grimaced and then spat to clear his mouth of the stink before hunting around for a strip of polythene.

_Better get this back to the Institute so we can tell the local police to investigate it. I just hope like hell this poor sod wasn't offed by one of us. Bet the rest of him is inside a crab's gullet by now._

He quickly wrapped the slimy limb in the polythene and gingerly picked it up before walking back to the Institute.

There was a roar of jets behind him and as a gust of wind that blew his hair forward he turned around, knowing as he did so who would be behind him.

"Ah, _fuck_ it," Scoutbot said, landing with a clang. "You found him? Damn, I'd hoped he'd be, you know, ok or something. Crazy I know. Is there any more?"

"Any more...? Oh, nah. I just found this leg. But who..."

"Poor Jacques! I mean, shit's just got real, right?"

"Huh?"

"Spy Jacques. You found him," Scoutbot said patiently.

"Hang on, you think this is Spy's?" Lawrence asked. "Why'd you think that? Is Jacques missing a leg or something?"

Scoutbot cocked stopped in his tracks and cocked his head on one side. His eyes glowed brightly. "Dude, where have you _been_?"

"Out on the reef," Lawrence said patiently. "Like I normally am. Did I miss something important?"

"Jacques is _dead_ , dude, and you just found the body! Jesus! How could you miss this?! This is, like, the biggest news ever! C'mon, we gotta go see Katie," Scoutbot exclaimed. He grabbed Sniper's arm with an oily hand and started to drag him along.

"Hang on a bloody minute," Sniper said, resisting Scoutbot's efforts to pull him along. To his surprise, he was stronger than the robot. "Start from the beginning. What happened to Spy Jacques?"

Scoutbot quickly summarised that the events as he knew them, and Lawrence felt his stomach drop into his toes. There'd been a _murder_ and he'd completely missed any news of it! He realised that he had been so wrapped up in finding his mysterious shadow on the reef that he'd been left completely out of the loop.

And why the buggery would a Medic murder a Spy? And by pushing him out of a window, no less! That seemed a bit...unimaginative for a man who had access to a surgery and a large number of poisons.

_What bloody hell was going on?!_

"Oh..oh God." One of the Miss Paulings- Lawrence was not sure which- bounded out of the Institute. "Let me get Albrecht to get a proper ID and then..."

"Already here." Medic Albrecht said, striding out from between two palm trees to meet the group. Tiny Vlad was perched on his shoulder, holding on to a tiny ribbon that had been sewn onto Albrecht's labcoat. "Vlad and I vere just coming to meet Scoutbot."

"Is this leetle Spy, Doktor?" Vlad asked, leaning forward curiously with no sign of disgust.

"Ve don't need any ozher tests because I can tell you it is, straight avay," Albrecht said regretfully. He ran his hand through his hair, which was getting longer and shaggier every day. "See zhe reduced lateral and medial menisci and zhe slight osteoarthritis on the lateral side of zhe tibia?"

They looked blankly at the rotting leg. Albrecht sighed in resignation.

"Spy has a bad knee. Zhis is vhat it looks like," He said in a sing-song, speaking-to-idiots voice. "Zhis is Spy's leg. And since I have had no Spies present to the infirmary vizh a missing leg recently, ve can assume zhis is Jacques' leg."

"I need to tell Katie about this," Miss Pauling muttered.

"So... Why didn't Spy respawn?" Lawrence asked.

"Not sure what you're supposed to know." Miss Pauling blinked, and tweaked her glasses a little straighter. "Ah, hell, I bet the Spies have told everyone anyway...we think Jacques had been...altered by Erwin. Genetically altered. That's why respawn didn't pick him up."

"Sodding hell, that's _sick_ ," Lawrence stated, shuddering in disgust. "So, what now?"

"Let me take zhat from you, and I vill put it in zhe morgue."

"We have a morgue?" Miss Pauling asked curiously. "I mean, why?"

"Ah, vell, actually it's my fridge," Albrecht admitted. "But ve can't have zhis leg stinking up zhe place."

"Show's over then, guys," Miss Pauling said with a sigh. "Thanks for your help, Lawrence. Now we can do something about this. I'll report to Katie and see what she thinks."

"So...Spy Jacques was altered, right? Altered _how_?" Lawrence persisted, not entirely sure why he was asking the question. Something in his gut told him it was important he knew more about this. Something about it was relevant, and he could just, juuust see an idea forming in his mind...

"It vas a vork of genius!" Albrecht said happily.

"It was work of crazy," Vlad interrupted flatly. "Erwin took octopus and combined it with man. Crazy."

"Vell, I suppose, ja...but still very clever."

"Octopus?" Lawrence stopped in his tracks. His spine tingled, and for a moment he felt light-headed. His gut instinct had been right. So very right. "You did say octopus, right? As in...tentacles and stuff?"

"Da, octopus. Is crazy and _my_ doktor will never try anything similar," Vlad said pointedly, glaring at up at Albrecht.

"Vlad, you never let me have any fun..." Albrecht muttered bitterly, but Vlad just chuckled good naturedly and patted the huge shoulder beneath him.

He looked around at the group and had to resist an odd wish to laugh at the stupidity of the whole situation. He couldn't tell them- they'd never believe the crazy loner in the wetsuit. They'd say he'd spent too long on his own, or that it was the moray eel venom sending him loopy, or whatever. They'd laugh in his face.

He needed proof.

"I gotta go now," He said shortly, aware as he said it that he was being awkward and not helping that whole 'crazy loner who pisses in jars' persona. He awkwardly shoved the leg at Albrecht, who took it without any sign of disgust or disdain. "There's someone I need to see."

He raced off, ignoring Miss Pauling's calls or the mutterings behind him. His mind was racing and he knew, he _knew_ he had to get to the bottom of this, and fast.

 _Kitchen. Grab some more fish. Salmon again, I guess._ He smiled grimly to himself. _Smoked salmon. Spy loves that._ As he ran to the lift, he went past a vending machine and stopped with a wry smile. _Oh, yeah. That'll get his attention_. He quickly bought an item and continued on his way.

A short time later, he was back outside at the boathouse. He grabbed his snorkel and fins, but left his dive gear behind- his tanks were empty, anyway- and then roared off, back to the sandy little islet where he had last seen Squid.

The clouds were dark and grey overhead as he raced onwards, water spraying whitely in his wake. Rather than trying to moor sensibly, he simply grounded the boat into the sand with a crunch and leapt out.

"Oi, Squid! You there?" He called. "I've got somethin' here I thought you might want to try. It's salmon, but it's been smoked, rather than bein' raw. It's really tasty."

_I also know it's your favourite meal._

He went over and plopped a little piece of smoked salmon into the water. Just a tiny piece- it was expensive and pretty rare at the Institute. Personally, he preferred freshly caught and cooked fish. To know he had provided for himself and had to rely on no one else- that was the best thing ever. In their different ways, he and Spy were similar in this. They both worked alone, and preferred be independent. It made them both feel secure.

He waited a few minutes while the little piece of meat was washed away from the shore. A small silver fish- Lawrence idly identified it as a juvenile silverside herring- investigated the bit of smoked fish and darted away, evidently disgusted by it.

How good was Squid's sense of smell, anyway?

Either way, he knew he could outwait Squid. He was a Sniper: he was good at waiting. Spy, on the other hand, was not. Much as he would claim otherwise, he got bored easily and liked constant activity and attention.

"Thisss fissh ssmellss strange," A hissing voice said. Lawrence smiled in satisfaction.

"Thought you might like to try something new, mate. Unless you've had smoked salmon in the past?"

"No." There was a ripple in the water and Squid's glistening head emerged, beadlets of water running off it. A clawed hand held the tiny sliver and Squid bit into it, making a show of eating it slowly and swallowing thoughtfully. Lawrence was reminded once again just how good a liar Spy was. If he hadn't known better, he'd have been completely convinced that Squid was trying a new food.

"Like it?"

"It iss deliciouss!" Squid replied, smiling with glee as Lawrence handed over the rest of it. His pointed teeth bit into it and delicately ripped off a few shreds.

"Had a feeling you'd like it. You get hungry a lot?"

"I ssseem to, yess."

"Growing new tentacles is hard work," Lawrence commented. Squid stopped eating and looked up at him with a puzzlement that was spiced with suspicion. "Got something else for you." He produced a little white packet of Gitanes.

Squid went utterly still. His tentacles drooped and his mouth dropped open briefly. He swallowed, and cleared his throat. "What isss that?"

"You know exactly what it bloody well is- _Jacques_."

Lawrence had to admit he was impressed with Squid's reaction. He did not flinch or show the slightest sign of guilt. Instead, he just looked up in puzzlement, his gill slits flaring for a moment.

"Who?"

"Ah, come on, don't come the raw prawn with me, mate!" Lawrence snapped. "I know all about you and Medic Erwin's experiment. Bugger me, though, it's caused a right stir."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Squid hissed carefully, drawing away from the shore.

"Yeah? Guess I'll just chuck these away then..." Lawrence held his arm back and made a gesture as if he was about to throw the French cigarettes into the sea. Squid made a slight strangled sound and twitched as he did so. Sniper grinned. "Maybe you _do_ want them after all, huh? Long time since your last durry."

"I jusst...jussst..." Squid sighed, his head bowed. "Curssse you, Bussshman. Damn you."

Keeping his head down, colour rippled across the transformed Spy's skin. Waves of blue became pinstriped and his bald head turned a dark navy. Bands of white formed at his wrists and neck. He finally looked up, and Lawrence's jaw dropped open. Squid's skin had shifted to look like a skin-tight version of a Spy's suit and balaclava, and now it was the right colour, his face was so obviously Spy's that Lawrence wondered how he had ever been fooled. He paused for a moment, and the offered Jacques his lighter. The transformed man snatched it grumpily and lit up. As he took the first drag, he moaned in ecstacy, and for a moment, his skin flickered white before he got it back under control.

"Ahh...mon dieu. I have _misssed_ that."

"So, it is you. Spy Jacques. Well, bugger me," Sniper said, lighting one of the cigarettes for himself. "I know hiding is what you do, but... why now?!"

" _Look at me!_ I am an abomination! I do not wissh to be ssseen like thiss!" Jacques snapped. He sighed and looked off into the distance, suddenly melancholy. Smoke rose slowly from his gills. "But then, you got into trouble. I...panicked. I did not think. I ssshould have let you resspawn. I am ssuch an idiot! And after, I could...I could not..."

"Look, it's alright, mate," Lawrence said softly. "This...all this...is not your fault. Maybe it can be put right. We could get you help, get you back to normal again. How about that? And if anyone _dares_ give you a hard time, I'd thump 'em."

"Go back to Medic? Sserioussly?" Jacques hissed. "Would I be anything other than a lab rat? A monsstrouss curiossity?"

"You'd better not be," Lawrence said grimly.

"Nevertheless, the ansswer to your kind offer is 'no'," Jacques said flatly.

"But..." Sniper stuttered to a halt. " Come on, mate, you can't stay out here! Don't you _want_ to be fixed? "

"I...don't know."

" _What?!"_

"Why would I wissh to return?" Jacques asked bitterly. He looked directly at him, yellow eyes searching out blue. "What iss left for me, there in the Insstitute?"

Lawrence felt his jaw open and close as he gaped, unable to come up with a reply. "There's all your friends. Family, even. Only family we clones have."

"But _you're_ not a..."

"The only family we have," Lawrence repeated firmly. "Clones or originals, it makes _no difference_. Best we don't make a distinction, got it?"

"The only friend I have iss right here," Jacques said quietly. For a moment, Lawrence missed what he had said, and then he smiled warmly at those alien yellow eyes. He reached out a hand, and a tentacle wrapped itself around his arm. It felt cool and oddly smooth, but not nearly as unpleasant or slimy as he expected.

"That's not true. They're all worried sick about you. Could you, uh..." Sniper paused in thought. He _had_ to get Jacques back to the Institute somehow, but he knew that directly ordering him would result in him disappearing forever. "They'd love to see you, squid monster or not."

Jacques stayed silent, his tentacle unlatching and withdrawing back into the water.

"There's summat else, too," Lawrence added, his voice turning more serious."Medic Erwin is under arrest- for your murder."

Spy Jacques looked up slowly, the fluttering of his gills slowing as his eyes narrowed briefly.

"Good."

**In Chapter Thirty-One: Jacques starts to talk...and it turns into a rant.**


	32. Malice Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a pleasant surprise while playing the other night. I met a highly experienced mvm player whose name I recognised as a really good TF2 fan artist. I won't say her name since I don't know if she wants to be mentioned here or not, but if you're reading this: Hi!
> 
> Rather amusingly, the two of us had the highest tour counts of any in our group. Remember how people say that fan artists/fic writers aren't 'real' fans because they can't play the game? I think we proved them wrong!
> 
> Now let's have one of those fun chapters where everything goes wrong...

_"Malice can always find a mark to shoot at, and a pretence to fire." - Charles Simmons_

"'Good'? What do you mean, 'good'?" Sniper asked, frowning slightly. He knew he didn't even really have to ask. "In case you hadn't noticed, mate, you haven't been murdered."

Jacques away at the waves for a moment, before looking down and speaking in a low voice. "Do you know what it felt like?"

"Look, next time I see Medic Erwin, I'll clobber him, ok? Then you'll be even. But you can't let a fella be..."

"Do you know how it feelsss to be ragingly thirssty, no matter how much you drink? Do you know how it feelsss to be ssuffocating, and not know why?" Jacques continued, ignoring the interruption. His eyes stared straight ahead, focused on nothing. As he continued, his voice got louder and his tentacles started to writhe slowly.

"Do you know how it feelss to have your teeth fall out of their ssocketss and be replaced with fangs? Do you know how it feelss when your ribss rip open to reveal gillsss?"

"I have dreams where I lose all my teeth," Lawrence said thoughtfully. He tried to picture being changed like Jacques had been, for real, rather than in a dream. He could feel his sanity dribbling away just trying to imagine it.

"My ssight blurred, and I thought I was going blind when my eyess changed," Jacques continued relentlessly. He made a slight gulping noise, his voice catching in his throat. "Then the sunlight was so bright it hurt. _Everything hurt!_ The only resspite I could get was underwater.

"Do you know what it'sss like for the land you have lived in all your life to become alien to you?" Jacques moved closer, his hands grasping Sniper's arm. "It is the worsst homessicknesss you can imagine. Homessicknesss for a body that you will never have again."

"Bloody hell. It's... that sounds like a proper nightmare," Lawrence said quietly.

"Thiss... thiss nightmare is _real!_ " Jacques shouted, his claws digging into Lawrence's arms and piercing the skin. "I changed, I _changed_ and I felt it all! I didn't know when it would sstop, or what would happen next! I felt my tentaclesss grow from my waist. They bulged like obsscene tumourss that could move on their own. _I felt my own legs rot and fall off!_ "

Spy paused, his chest heaving. "Ah, mon Dieu. Mon Dieu." Lawrence saw him swallow, his throat moving. He made a small noise that it took Sniper a moment to identify: a sob. Then another. Jacques head bowed in defeat and shame as his body shook.

"Jackie," Lawrence breathed. He grabbed Jacques and pulled the crying man into a tight hug. He felt his muscles tense briefly before relaxing into the embrace. The transformed man's body was cooler than his and his skin felt wet and slippery against his hands. Contrary to Lawrence's previous teasing, however, he didn't smell of fish- just the sea, salt... and, of course, cigarettes. "S'alright, Jackie."

The transformed Spy cried silently, his body jerking with sobs but his training stopping him making the slightest noise. One of Lawrence's legs started to twinge at the lack of movement, but he ignored it, and stroked Jacques' back soothingly. Maybe he was helping and maybe he wasn't, but hell, at least he had tried. If he had been asked a few days earlier how he'd feel in this situation, he'd have claimed to be far too manly to be comfortable hugging his friend, but as it turned out, it felt utterly natural. It felt...right.

After a length of time, Jacques tucked his head under Lawrence's chin and gave a deep, exhausted sigh.

Finally, Sniper spoke. "No wonder you don't want to see a Medic again."

"I can't go back," Jacques murmured, blinking and sniffing. "I can't. Ugh, apologiess, bushman." He pulled himself away from the Sniper and idly wiped his nose with a tentacle.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jacques ducked under the sea for a moment before re-emerging with glistening skin.

"I dunno how you didn't go completely doolally," Sniper finally continued. "I can see why you want Erwin dead. I'm guessin' they'll give him the death sentence for this."

"I hope ssso," Jacques said quietly.

"He must've gone completely off his rocker, capturing you and experimenting on you like this," Lawrence mused. "Deserves everything he gets."

"He did not capture me," Jacques paused and curled the tip of one tentacle around his finger. "I agreed to it."

"What?!"

"Not thisss. Not all thisss," Jacques said, gesturing at himself. "The experiment went wrong. It was jusst sssuppossed to give me the ability to change my sskin colour."

"Huh. That worked at least."

"Indeed," Jacques smiled a little, and a wave of yellow flitted along his body.

"That is bloody amazing."

"Unfortunately, it did not sstop there- as you ssee."

"So...this was all an accident? He didn't mean to turn you into a, a..."

"Tentacled monsstrossity?" Jacques suggested bitterly. "It sseems not. However, he _enjoyed_ watching me transform! He ssaid it wass 'fasscinating'!"

"Sounds like the bloody Medic to me," Lawrence agreed. He lit one of the Gitanes and took a puff before handing a second lit one to Jacques. "Why'd you dive out of the window?"

"The ssea." Jacques said. "I...it felt like I wass ssuffocating. I _had_ to get into the ssea. When I did, I could breathe again. I felt...free." Jacques suddenly flopped down onto his stomach with a sigh, supporting his upper body on his elbows. One of his tentacles idly slapped the sand, like a flicking cat's tail.

"Yeah. It feels like flying," Lawrence said softly. He took another drag on the cigarette, grimacing slightly at its strong, tarry taste. He cleared his throat. "I, uh, found one of your legs. The Institute has taken it as proof of your death."

Jacques went very still for a moment, before making a brief clicking noise. "Ssso be it."

"That's _it_?" Lawrence asked in astonishment. "You're just going to let them think that?"

"All that I once was, is dead," Jacques stated. "I am nothing to them now. They are nothing to me."

"Bollocks," Lawrence spat. He turned and poked the transformed man's shoulder. "Stop being so bloody self-pitying, you whining little poofter! So what if you're an octopus-man now? We already have a, uh, set of telepathic twins, a robot and a tiny little fat Russian- you honestly think you're _too weird_ for us?"

Jacques' yellow eyes blinked slowly.

"All the blokes are dead worried about you," Lawrence continued, with a pang of guilt over the fact he'd not even known about the missing Spy until today. _But the people I saw_ did _seem worried. So it's not a lie, right?_ "Could you at least let them know you're alive?"

"Let me think about thiss..." Jacques paused for a fraction of a second. "No."

"You're so bloody stubborn. Same old Spy as always," Sniper commented. "Even with the fishy bits. Same old Spy."

The only reply was a breathy snort.

"Did Medic Erwin ever say sorry?" Lawrence asked curiously.

"No," Jacques replied shortly. He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

"Huh. Sounds about right."

"He ssaid he could fix all thiss," Jacques said sourly. Smoke oozed from his gills. "He found the idea of giving me sskin grafts and yet more experimental ssurgery as exciting as the original experiment. As if I would let him _near_ me again!"

"Huh. He's bloody barmy."

"Yess."

"Hang on," Lawrence said, sitting upright and frowning, "Hang on a sodding minute here. You said that he admitted the experiment went wrong, right?"

"Yess," Jacques repeated.

"And before you legged it, he offered to put you back to normal?"

"Through ssome ssort of gruessome ssurgery, yess."

"You're telling me he was sorry for what he did," Lawrence stood up slowly. "He was _sorry_ for it, and was going to fix it. Look, Medic's sodding doolally, but you know as well as I can that he can perform bloody marvels when he gets in the mood!"

"Sso?"

"You didn't give him the chance, and now he's going to be found guilty of murder!"

"As I ssaid before: good," Jacques said shortly.

"But he's innocent! Uh, sorta. Maybe. Spy, you gotta let them know you're alive! You..." Lawrence stopped, knowing straight away that he had made a mistake. Spy could defy gravity if someone _ordered_ him to keep his feet on the ground.

"I don't have to do anything," Jacques said shortly. "'Nor to I wish to."

"Ok, no you don't _have_ to. But it's the right thing to do," Sniper argued. "Look, I _know_ you, Spy. Better than anyone else in the world, I reckon. You like to play the role of the merciless killer, and yeah, you're slippery and devious, but we both know you have a conscience. _You're a good man_. Are you going to let an innocent man be wrongly convicted?"

"Yess. Becausse murder might not be hiss crime, but he desservess the punisshment," Jacques said flatly. "I want him to ssuffer."

"But you're suffering too!" Lawrence threw his arms wide in exasperation. "You're all alone out here, eating raw fish and craving cigarettes when you could be part of the Institute again! Is it really worth it? Really?"

"Yess," Jacques replied, crossing his arms firmly. Lawrence noticed that some of his tentacles crossed and knotted together as well. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have found that funny.

"Damn you, Jackie," Sniper said with a resigned sigh. He paused for a moment. "I won't give you any more cigarettes unless you come home."

Jacques made a slight pained noise, but nodded. "Very well. Let me know when they ssentence him."

"You know what?" Lawrence sighed in resignation and looked down at the ground by his feet.

"What?" Jacques looked up at him curiously.

"The Spy I know...wouldn't let this happen," Lawrence said quietly.

"I am not him," Jacques replied solemnly, starting to slip back into the water. He looked back briefly at Lawrence, and for a moment, Sniper was sure those yellow eyes were wetter than usual.

"Jacques?" Sniper said. He could feel his throat becoming tight and painful with some emotion he refused to identify.

"Yess?"

"Uh...I'll see you again, right?"

Jacques gave a small smile that never reached his eyes. "Of course." He slipped under the water silently.

"Bugger it." Lawrence said with a sigh. Jacques was lying, and he'd never see him again. He knew it, deep in his bones.

He made a noise between a growl and a snarl, and got back into his boat. With a roar and a spray of white water, he drove back to the Institute, with bitter anger as his passenger.

* * *

"Soldier, take those handcuffs off him, dammit," Katie Pauling snapped, as Medic Erwin was led into the crowded conference room.

The doctor was pale but clean shaven and dressed in a freshly pressed suit, and he rubbed his wrists idly when Soldier grumbled and took off his restraints. To Katie, he looked calm, but she knew he there was no way he could be.

This whole situation made her neck itch. Normally, crime and punishment was simple in the Institute: do something wrong, lose your kneecaps. Ultimately, the main way she controlled all the mercs was by giving them a good lifestyle and no reason to rebel. She allowed herself a brief, bitter smirk.

_I don't think a single one of them has figured out why the Institute is_ really _here: to keep the rest of the world safe from_ them _. It's a prison, for all of us. A gilded cage._

_Even for me._

The only room in the Institute big enough to contain everyone was the mess hall, and a mixture of cheap plastic chairs had been dragged in to provide as much seating as possible. Violet Spy sat to her left, while Anna Pauling and the rest of the WPD sat to her right. The remnants of the WPD fidgeted nervously as the crowd parted to let the Medic through. There were muttering and whispers as he passed, but Erwin kept his head held high and looked at no one other than Katie. She looked back at him calmly. Eventually, Erwin blinked and looked away, and she cleared her throat.

"Sit down, Medic Erwin," He looked surprised, and she sighed. "Look, this isn't a court of law. We operate by our own rules, so we'll do this our way. Violet Spy...eh, sorry, I mean Monsieur Sabatier, it's all yours."

"Thank you," Théo gave her a slight nod. "As you all know, we are here today to discuss the events surrounding Spy Jacques' death, and to investigate the causes and who, if anyone, is culpable..."

Katie looked around the hall as Théo summarised the events up until now, and why Edwin was under suspicion. As she had expected, the men listening showed very little surprise, just an eagerness and impatience to hear the final verdict. _Can't keep any secrets around here. I've never known such a bunch of gossips!_

The sun briefly came out from behind its clouds, making the room hot and humid as Théo talked and called on witnesses- Anna Pauling, Spy Marcus, Scoutbot, Engineer Tyler... Katie felt her brow prickle with sweat and she took a quick swig from her glass of water. Even for the Bahamas, the heat was stultifying, threatening to send the listening crowd to sleep as Théo droned on.

Ultimately, she just wanted the entire thing sorted out, but she knew that would never happen- not really. Life just wasn't that tidy. She already knew her next month of work would be stopping fights, reassuring nervous Medics and generally doing all of that _emotional_ stuff she despised. She had a billion dollar empire to run, dammit, and here she was babysitting a bunch of insane yet talented mercenaries who...

"Madamoiselle?"

Katie blinked. "Sorry, Théo. You were saying?"

The former Spy gave her a disapproving look. "I would like to call you to the stand."

"Me?" She asked in surprise. "Is that even allowed?"

"You make the rules, oui?" Théo raised an eyebrow at her in that irritating 'I'm so much more intelligent than you' way that Spies had. She stood up with a sigh.

"Ok."

"Katie Pauling, I would like to ask you about your actions during and after the Peru expedition. First of all: when did you become aware that the expedition had run into difficulties?"

"When Engineer Jed came into my office one day, telling me he had made contact with the group and there had been a death," She stated. The sun passed behind the clouds and the sweat suddenly felt cold on her skin. "I had...been wondering how they had been getting on, since we'd lost contact with them. We agreed we needed to rescue them right away."

"Were you surprised that they had run into problems?"

"Well...yes and no," Katie admitted. As she paused for thought, she saw Bobby and Rick in the crowd, looking at her intently. They both gave her encouraging smiles. She did not need their reassurance, of course...but still, it was nice. "I knew it was a dangerous away mission, but they've survived worse. So...I guess I didn't expect them to have trouble, but it wasn't a huge surprise."

"If you could go back to that moment, considering what you know now, would you still have sent them?"

"Absolutely. Carmine has... _had_ to be stopped," She corrected herself quickly.

"Is there anything you would change?"

"Well, it's obvious we relied too much on our equipment," Katie admitted. "When the teeps went down, they were doomed. In the future, they'll bring backups...maybe a team with two Engineers, rather than one, and more survival gear."

"Is there any other alterations you would make to the team?"

"No...I don't think so," Katie replied thoughtfully.

"Is there any member of the team that you feel acted poorly, or was incompetent?"

"No more than usual," She said, and then noticed Théo's glare. "I mean, uh, no. They all handled a bad situation as best as they could. Sometimes, things just don't go smoothly."

"What about Spy Jacques? How would you assess his performance?"

"I'm...sorry, I don't quite understand what you mean. He's the same as any other Spy."

"From Engineer Tyler's testimony, it seems Jacques did not believe that."

"Yeah, well, he is," She said, shaking her head. "I mean, obviously. If he doubted himself, that was his problem, not mine."

"Would you say, then, that he was competent and fit for the job?"

"Definitely."

"Moving on then," Théo said, walking away briefly before turning back. "When did you visit the expedition after their rescue?"

"Two days after. Medic Albrecht _finally_ let me see them," She glanced over to Albrecht, who shrugged idly.

"What were your first impressions?"

"They looked...sick. I hadn't expected them to be well, but they all looked pale and exhausted- far worse than at the end of the robot war. I think it's because they lost, rather than won," Katie explained. "I felt they wouldn't get better cooped up in the infirmary, so I, um, nagged Albrecht into letting them go." She heard a quiet, disapproving tut from Albrecht.

"Did you give any other instructions at that time?"

"They looked so bad, I decided to give them two weeks compassionate leave."

"Have you ever done that in the past?"

"Well, no." She admitted.

"Many in that group are known workaholics. Did you fear they would still work?"

"Yes, so I told them that I'd put them on a disciplinary if I found them doing anything other than relaxing."

"Did anyone break that order?"

"Well, _obviously_ ," Katie said with a snort. "Medic Erwin did."

"If you had found out then, what would his punishment have been?"

"I was thinking two months with no stipend. Maybe send him off to Soldier for an exercise class. Something annoying and painful like that."

"That is my last question, thank you," Théo gave a slight bow. "I am ready to present the verdict now. Would you like a short recess before that?"

"Just get on with it," Katie said with an impatient wave of her hand.

"Very well," Théo said, with just a touch of disapproval. He turned to face the lobby full of clones. "Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard all the details of this sorry case. The important facts as I see them are: Spy Jacques, while recovering from the loss of his friend, agreed to Medic Erwin's proposal. He was not kidnapped or captured, but was possibly coerced. Medic Erwin performed a procedure on him that he knew carried some risk, but there is no evidence that he was acting with malice aforethought. Even so, his actions resulted in Spy Jacques' death.

"The question now is: how much responsibility does Erwin carry for Jacque's death? Let us bear in mind that the doctor himself had undergone an highly unpleasant experience that had no doubt upset the balance of his mind..."

"Zhere is nozhing wrong with my mind!" Erwin snapped indignantly.

"Don't interrupt!" Katie Pauling snapped, holding up her hand in warning.

"Therefore, I find myself unable to find Erwin guilty of the full charge of second degree murder. Instead, I believe he is guilty of manslaughter, and should face a reduced charge as a result," Erwin looked at Théo in dull surprise, and the ex-Spy nodded back slightly. "Considering that the Institute is outside of any court of law, and is independent of any country, it is up to the person in charge- Miss Katie Pauling- to decide on a suitable sentence. I would recommend leniency, however."

"Huh. Give me a moment to think about this." Katie drummed her fingers on the desk. The stuffy room went utterly silent. She and Théo had already privately decided the best punishment, but she knew it was important to put on a show here. She stood up slowly. Medic Erwin looked at her steadily. He'd not shown much emotion his trial. It was as if he'd already given up, and had retreated inside his own head.

"We're all murderers here," she said, "But we've always been loyal to our own. We don't kill our teammates. Medic Erwin, your big failing here was not telling Jacques the risks of the treatment he underwent. What you did was reckless and selfish. For you, it was just another pet project- but it ended the life of your ally. Your _friend_.

"However, I am aware you had your own...difficulties...at the time," She continued. "Monsieur Sabatier has informed me that the usual sentence for manslaughter in France is fifteen years imprisonment. Given his plea for leniency, I am going to reduce that to ten years."

There were a few murmurs of approval or dismay from the hall, and she raised her voice. "The corrective facilities will be improved and enlarged to allow for the needs of a long-term prisoner, and Medic Erwin will be allowed visitors once a day, for an hour. He will only be allowed to leave his cell under escort and, in order to pay for his actions, will be expected to perform basic manual duties around the Institute- such as cleaning or maintenance.

"Medic Erwin, do you understand this sentence?"

"I do," He said in a low voice, looking steadily at Katie. His eyes were cold, but she had stared down far more dangerous people in her time, and she held his gaze fearlessly.

"Do you have anything you wish to say?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," He said, rising to his feet. There were mutters and jeers from the watching people. "I vish to confess. It vas not manslaughter. I murdered Spy Jacques. It vas his fault I vas...vas tortured, and I hated his guts for it."

"What?!" Engineer Tyler suddenly shot to his feet in the crowd.

"I talked him into zhis procedure vhen I knew he was desperate and likely to agree, and I knew it vould result in his deazh." He paused, and shifted awkwardly. "I...confess I did not zhink he vould jump out of zhe vindow, but if he hadn't, I vould have pushed him."

"Erwin, _no!_ " Tyler cried. "This is all bullshit! You're lying. What are you _doing_?"

"I vanted him dead. I vanted him to _suffer_ ," Erwin continued relentlessly.

"No you didn't. Dammit, Erwin, I was _there_ when he jumped," Tyler shouted, surging forward before being held back by Heavy Anatoly. "You were as shocked as I was!"

"I was disappointed he jumped," Erwin said, staring at nothing. "I vanted him to last longer, writhing in agony."

"I find this unlikely," Théo said. "Remember that I read your journal, Medic."

"You zhink I vould write zhis down?" Erwin whirled around to face Théo with a sneer. "Do you zhink me an idiot?"

"Hell yes I do! You're being a complete idiot, right now," Tyler said with a snarl. "What in Sam-HIll are you tryin' to _do_?"

"You confess to Jacques' murder?" Katie asked, her hands clenching against the table in front of her. The sweat on the back of her neck had gone prickly-cold and she resisted a reflexive shudder. "In front of witnesses?"

"I do."

"But you _didn't murder him!_ " Tyler shouted. "I know you didn't!"

"You know, you _could_ have saved us a lot of time if you'd said this right at the beginning," Katie said in irritation. She rubbed the needle-point headache that was forming between her eyebrows. "Very well. That makes it first degree murder, right?"

"Correct," Théo said faintly. Katie noticed he had gone pale and his jaw clenched. She breathed out slowly through her nose to gather her thoughts.

"Medic Erwin, I find you guilty of first-degree murder, and I sentence you to death," Katie said. She swallowed. _Killing clones. Just like the old days._ "Your respawn will be switched off, and you will be allowed to choose the manner of your execution."

"I request to die by point-blank headshot. Quick and painless," Erwin said. Katie saw his Adam's Apple bob up and down. "I wish Engineer Tyler to be zhe one to carry out zhis sentence."

Tyler made a strangled noise and staggered sideways. Heavy Anatoly quickly hauled him upright.

"Erwin," Engineer croaked. "Don't do this. Don't ask me."

"I must, my friend," Erwin replied softly. "Do it for my sake. I know you vill be merciful."

"Damn it, Erwin," Tyler sighed. "Damn you."

"I'll set the date and time of the execution to six a.m. on the sixth of September, just in case any further evidence is unearthed," Katie said. "Engineer Tyler will be the executioner. Now, everyone get out of my sight."

Soldier shoved Erwin, and he walked slowly and steadily out of the room. The crowd quickly followed. As they filed out, the noise level increased as shouting and arguments broke out. Finally, Théo looked back at Katie, shooked his head, shrugged, and left her alone.

_This is wrong_.

She knew it. She had never relied on gut instinct, but she _knew_ this whole situation was wrong. This execution would solve nothing. Carmine was still out there, they still had a traitor running lose, Jacques was still dead- they had achieved _nothing_!

"Ah, fuck," She said, and then got up and left.

**In Chapter Thirty-Two: Time ticks on towards Erwin's execution date, but Lawrence has other worries...**


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The readership has grown again! My viewing figures are, frankly, scary! I only write for the lulz and yet all these people are reading it. Weird! I never knew tentaspies were this popular. You know the annoying thing? I don't want this story to end, but it will. I can't stop it. We're reaching the final climax now, and stuff is going to happen. Awesome stuff.
> 
> This is another of those chapters where not much happens, but in an exciting way. Sort of.
> 
> Omg! I just got an email telling me the latest chapter of 'The Shadow On The Reef' has been posted on fanfic.net! Who would have guessed?

_"Despair has its own calms." - Bram Stoker_

**September 2** **nd** **, 1972**

"Oi, fishface, are you there?" Lawrence called as he hopped out of the boat onto the white sand. He carefully put a whole salmon down on the beach. "Just gonna leave that there for you. Better grab it before the gulls do."

He sat down and sighed. "I reckon you _are_ here, just hiding. Hiding is what you do, but I bet you heard the boat's motor and swam over to see what I was doing. So, I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen.

"Erwin's trial was yesterday," Sniper explained. He looked around, but saw no sign of movement. "They found him guilty. Of manslaughter, though, not murder. But then everything went sodding _weird_.

"Dammit, Jacques, seems you were right about him. I couldn't bloody believe it. He confessed. He bloody confessed! He said he wanted you dead 'cos of that whole Peru business, and was glad you'd suffered first. He...he even said he would have pushed you out of the window if you hadn't jumped."

A bank of cloud covered the sun, and the light turned dingy and grey. It was still hot, though, and horribly humid. Lawrence wiped his brow. The weather was changing as the year slid towards autumn.

"Look at us. We're killers of men. Women too, sometimes. But we do it quick and as clean as we can. We don't hold grudges. It's just a job, right? One we can take pride in doing well. It's only thugs who do the 'rough 'em up' stuff. But Erwin...he's the monster. Not you.

"They're going to put a bullet between his eyes, and good riddance. And you know what, Jacques? You'll still be here. Alive. You _won_. You survived what he put you through, because you're just that tough. You can be proud of that, right?

"So maybe...once he's dead, you can come back?" Sniper asked the silent sea. "Get some medical help- yeah yeah, I _know_ , but the other Medics aren't doolally like he was- get back to a normal life. Being alone out here- it's not good for you. You can't live like this forever."

"Got these for you, too." Lawrence looked around and got out a pack of cigarettes. He took out one and lit it, before placing the rest of them on the ground. "No lighter, though. If you want them lit, you'll have to find me. If you don't like that, bloody tough.

"You know, the other day, you said something I thought was weird at the time. When I got bitten by that eel, you said 'I couldn't watch you die again'. You said 'again'. Now I've been to that trial, I know what you mean. You saw Tim die of poison, the poor sod, and you blamed yourself, didn't you?

"See, that's a typical Spy way to think. You're an arrogant, self-pitying whiny fruit-shop owner who thinks the world revolves around him. So, someone dies near you, it's _your_ fault. Especially when it's your best friend. But he was _poisoned_ , Jacques. Not by you. By our enemies. They wanted him dead, and they'd have found a way, no matter what. We know that, you and I, right? Sometimes, it takes more than one attempt to take out a target, other times, you get lucky.

"So, what I'm saying is that if I was Sniper Tim- and I almost bloody am- I'd say there's nothing to forgive. But, if you _did_ need forgiving, I forgive you, Jacques."

Lawrence got up and brushed his knees off with a sigh. "Well, I didn't come here to lecture you. I just thought you'd want to know...all that stuff."

He looked around hopefully, but there was still no reply. Perhaps Jacques was here, and perhaps he wasn't. He shrugged, climbed back into the boat, and left the lonely little island.

* * *

**September 3** **rd**

"I believe, mademoiselle, that this is where we part ways," Théo said, idly putting out his cigarette in the ashtray Katie Pauling pointedly shoved at him. "Thank you for your kind offer of a visit; it's been horrible. We mustn't do this again sometime."

Miss Pauling got to her feet and shook his hand. "I appreciate your help Sp...Monsieur Sabatier." She sighed. "I wish this could all have finished a little more tidily. If only Erwin had had some connection to Carmine! And Jacques... poor Jacques..."

"To think of my clone subjected to such things is... beyond unpleasant." Théo nodded and blinked. "I presume you will not be holding Erwin's actions against the other Medics?"

"It's hard to see how not to," Miss Pauling confessed. She picked up a pen and idly flicked it through her fingers. "If Erwin was capable of such monstrosity, aren't they all?"

"Oh, please. Surely you are more intelligent than that," Théo said with a snort and that little patronising shake of his head that always made Katie Pauling want to stab his eyeballs. "Violet Sniper and I, long before all this, noticed that the clones were becoming individuals. At the time, we assumed it was because they were at different bases, in different fights. But even here... mademoiselle, all humanity strives for uniqueness. Look at your copies: first, do any of them wear the same style of glasses? How many dye their hair?"

"Those are just cosmetic changes," Miss Pauling replied with a frown.

"At first," Théo continued. "Life shapes us all. Compare you and Clara Pauling. She is quiet, calm, and you are...are..."

"Loud and angry?" She said pointedly. "As a Spy, you sometimes fail the 'suave' bit, you know."

"In comparison, perhaps," He continued steadily ignoring her comment. "But consider this: Jacques was willing to risk all to become unique. That was his greatest triumph. He showed more bravery than any other Spy, and should be remembered for it."

"He'll be remembered, I'll be sure of that," Miss Pauling said grimly. She sniffed, and cleared her throat. "So...you're going back home? To, what's her name again? Racquel?"

"Rachel," Théo said with a touch of annoyance, before a lightning smile flitted across his face. For a moment, he looked younger than Miss Pauling. "We have a wedding to arrange."

Miss Pauling smiled warmly back. "Good luck, Théo- and thanks for everything. And, uh...let me know if you need a bridesmaid. Well, you know. You might."

Théo snorted, shook his head, and then turned and sauntered out of Miss Pauling's office.

* * *

**September 4** **th**

The seas were rough and cold today.

Jacques clung to the coral to stop himself being washed away. The new cold currents that were coming in were oddly refreshing, but all the fish were hiding, and he was hungry, so hungry.

The reef was no longer a riot of colour under sparkling crystal waters- it was grey and murky with sand and debris kicked up by the high winds.

A sudden forceful wave yanked him free of his grip, and he went tumbling off, head over heels and getting scraped by the sharp edges of the corals.

_Bordel!_

This was hopeless. He would get nothing to eat today. Unless...

Jacques' gills rippled in an underwater sigh. He would have to give in and see if Lawrence had left him any food. _You should be self-sufficient. You don't need the Institute. You_ have _to become independent!_

However, he was willing to admit he was new to this. Baby steps, he told himself. Today, he would go and see if Sniper had left anything. _Tomorrow_ , he would hunt successfully.

He battled his way through the surging water, hissing when a loose piece of coral cut his dark blue skin. A whisp of red misted out into the water, and Jacques could taste his own blood on the currents.

Finally, he reached the beach where he and Lawrence had met so often. It was empty, but there was a deep groove where an anchor had been dragged free, and, sure enough, an entire trout. It even had a slice of lemon on top of it. He found himself smiling at that.

_Ah, bushman, maybe you are finally learning some refinement from me._

His smile faltered and fell. _From a sea monster._ He looked down at his dark blue skin and writhing tentacles. The worst part of it was that it was starting to feel... normal. Being above water felt hot, bright and gritty. He belonged to the reef now. Perhaps... right from being cloned, he had never been truly human.

He picked up the raw fish and bit into it, his sharp teeth cutting easily through the stringy flesh. He tried adding a sprinkle of lemon juice, but it tasted foul and bitter to his altered taste buds.

He found himself wondering what Lawrence was doing right now. Would he be diving on a windy day like this, or relaxing inside, napping under his hat as he was wont to do?

He stripped the remaining flesh off the fish quickly and neatly, and then ducked back under the water, satisfied and full. As he made his way to his little cave in the reef, he wondered more about Lawrence. Maybe he could...but no. The idea of seeing Lawrence again made him shudder. He pondered that for a moment. Was it because Sniper had insulted him? Well...no. They insulted each other all the time. Nothing new there. In fact, he had enjoyed his company so much over the last few chaotic weeks...

He swallowed uncomfortably. There was no point denying it: now that Lawrence knew who he was, he wanted nothing more than to hide. Playing the mysterious sea monster had been enjoyable, in an odd, perverted sort of a way, but now Sniper knew what he really was: a mutant. A failed medical experiment. The idea of being pitied made him want to gag.

He tucked himself into his cave, twisting his tentacles around himself. The feel of his extra limbs curled tightly was oddly soothing as he settled down and waited for the rough seas to pass.

* * *

**September 5** **th**

**_"_ ** _...and finally, the weather. A tropical depression has developed over Cal Say Bank and is moving north. It's causing this system of high winds we can see here, and is moving north, bringing some light rainfall. We're expecting more high winds and more of this hot, humid weather over the next few days, but nothing more serious._

_On a lighter note, I have a letter here from a Mr Tom Morgan of Nassau, asking if we know anything about the 'flying purple UFO' he and his neighbours have seen over the last few weeks. Well, Mr Morgan, if there is a UFO about, so far it's not affected the weather, and that's all we really know about here._

_This is Fiona Brown, on ZNS-1 Radio Bahamas. And now over to..."_

The door to Erwin's cell was flung open, and a metal finger firmly switched the radio off.

"They finally let me come in and see you, you damn fool," Tyler said, sitting down and placing his hands on his knees. "Well...when I say they let me in, it was sorta...ah heck. Never mind. What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Vhat do you vant me to say?" Erwin looked up slowly, peering at him over his glasses. His dark hair was brushed back severely from his temples, but a few strands fell messily down the sides of his face.

"Well?" Tyler insisted.

"Vell vhat?" Erwin uncrossed his legs and put his book down, carefully marking the position.

"You know as well as I do that you're innocent. You didn't murder Jacques. Or rather- you didn't mean to," Tyler stated. "So what the hell was all that about?!"

"I confessed," Erwin replied, still maintaining that annoying calm. "I'm guilty."

"You're lying!" Tyler spat. "Is it the idea of bein' imprisoned for all that time? You thought you'd take the easy route out? Is that it?"

Erwin just shrugged idly.

"Ten years ain't forever! You coulda been patient!" Tyler shouted. He stood up and lunged over to Erwin, grabbing the front of his shirt with his robotic hand. "And you just had to drag me into this, didn't you?"

"You're my friend." Erwin looked Tyler straight in the eye, and for the first time, Tyler could see some sort of emotion in there, dark and muddied. "Zhe only one I have."

"And tomorrow, they're gonna march you out and I'm gonna have to _kill_ you."

"Ve have both killed people who didn't deserve to die," Erwin said steadily. He blinked and looked away. "Vhat's one more?"

"This 'one more'," Tyler said in a low voice, "Is you."

"Hrm, so it is," Erwin said.

"So that's it? You're not gonna fight this?" Tyler asked. "The Medic I know'd fight tooth n'nail to survive, guilty or not."

Erwin just shrugged again. Tyler looked at him carefully, and felt his spine tingle. His eyes narrowed as a little spark of hope started to grow.

"You got a plan," He stated slowly. And yes, there is was- a tiny startle of guilt. "Yeah, you have. You got a plan."

"Don't talk nonsense!" Erwin turned and glared at him. "Zhere is no vay I could possibly get out of zhis!"

"Isn't there?" Tyler asked pointedly. Erwin's eyes flitted up the corner of the cell, where a small security camera was bolted to the wall, its little red light flashing.

"Zhere comes a point vhere ve have to stop fighting," Erwin said. He gave a sudden bright but blank smile. "You and your endless optimism, Tyler! It is hopeless, but refreshing."

"I..." Tyler's voice failed for a moment. "Look, least I can do is arrange your last meal. I'll make sure it's done right. Whatever you like."

"You zhink you can persuade Spy Constantin not to spit in my food?" Erwin said wryly.

"I can do my best," Tyler said, nodding and doffing an imaginary hat. "Not that you have to worry 'bout food poisoning at that point..." He trailed off.

"True," Erwin said quietly. "Lebkuchen. I love zhem, and I've not had zhem in...quite some time."

"Ledkooken? I'll pass it on."

"Lebkuchen. Zhey are small spiced cakes, served at Christmas in Germany," He sighed sadly. "I miss zhem."

"Lebkuchen. That right, doc?" Erwin nodded, and Tyler patted him on the shoulder, briefly clasping as if to make sure he was still there. "I'll get right on it."

* * *

**September 6** **th** **, 4:55am**

Sniper Lawrence woke from his sleep to the sound of heavy rain banging against the pane of his window. He blinked in the darkness for a moment, wondering what the sound was, before groaning, stretching and sitting up to look around the room. He had left his curtains open, as usual- why bother closing them when nobody could look in? Rivulets of rain ran down the glass and a flash of lightning made the raindrops sparkle in the glow for a second.

_Huh. Well, it is storm season._

In a display of what some other members of the Institute would have called 'utter insanity', he opened the window and let the fresh, wet air blow into the room. The air was stuffy in here, and he had always loved rain. The downpour surged in, quickly plastering his scraggy hair to his head and soaking him from head to foot. The water that ran over his lips tasted of salt, since he hadn't bothered showering after finishing work the day before.

Looking out, he could see very little straight ahead, but as he looked down there was another flash of lightning, and the black, roiling sea surged beneath, streaked with white foam.

The thunder from the first lightning strike came rumbling and growling around the sky, close enough to crackle bad-temperedly amongst the clouds above.

_Huh. Guess I'll be having a day off. Nobody should be out in that filth. It's not safe._

He looked down at the rough seas again and suddenly frowned.

_Jacques!_

With a lot of swearing and groaning, he struggled into his wetsuit and raced out of the room.

**In Chapter Thirty-Three: Lawrence races out to save Jacques from the storm...and Erwin is marched out for execution.**


	34. At The Last Second?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear me! You know, I'm far too old to be faffing about writing silly fanfics, but then I've never believed in acting one's age.
> 
> If anyone needs me, I'll be on the floor playing with Lego...
> 
> Meantime, have some story. Note the quote here, and feel free to send me angry reviews when you get to the end of this chapter. I'm hoping there will be some.

_"Because someone, somewhere, has to give a damn." - Medic 29/b._

Not surprisingly, Erwin woke early on the day of his planned execution. The truth was he had barely slept.

As he looked at the rain beating against the tiny, barred window high on the cell wall, he found himself wondering if he was truly sane any more. He _felt_ sane- but how was that even possible?

He glanced at his watch. The hands glowed greenly in the darkness: 5:00am. He had an hour left until he was to be marched out and shot.

He felt fine. He really did. He _was_ fine. He grinned in the darkness and stood up. Thunder crackled and tore the sky above him. He wished he was out in the weather- feeling the rain hit him so hard it hurt, feeling the cold winds beat his face and his clothes stick to his body, listen to the roaring of the palm trees as their leaves were torn loose- but here he was, in this Gottverdammte cell.

At least he could listen to the thunder and the howling winds.

Not long now.

* * *

_"This is ZNS-1 Radio Bahamas, bringing you the weather at 5:05am, 6th September. The depression that formed yesterday has now deepened into a full tropical storm and has been named Tropical Storm Dawn. The public is advised to avoid travel and absolutely avoid sea travel of any kind until further notice. Keep to high ground and prepare for further action._

_There is some speculation as to whether Storm Dawn will become a full hurricane, so prepare your storm cellars in case of..."_

Sniper Lawrence switched off the radio with a snarl. _Yeah, like that tells me anything I didn't already know._ His wetsuit creaked as he stepped out of the lift and padded across the lobby to the front door, gripping his high-power torch tightly. The doors rattled under the buffeting of the winds, and he peered through them reluctantly. He set his jaw determinedly, and marched out into the storm.

The wind instantly hit him with a blast of tepid wet air, half-knocking him off his feet. He looked up, but the thick clouds were so dark he could see nothing but a velvety blackness beyond the reach of his torch. He had always had a good sense of direction, though, so he kept his torch pointed down to find his path, and made his way to the boathouse.

He knew what the reef would look like after a storm like this: battered and grey. All the life would be swept away, and the beaches would be strewn with wrack and broken coral. What state would Jacques be in if he stayed out there? He might be aquatic now, but he was also clueless.

He frowned as he stumbled over the uneven path to the boathouse. The big question now was: How the hell would he even _find_ Jacques, let alone convince him to come to safety?

He had no clue.

"Ah, sod it." He muttered, and shielded his eyes against the stinging rain as he continued on his way.

* * *

Tyler stabbed his finger with a wince, and yet again, wondered why, after all these years, pricking his fingers still hurt. Surely he should have got used to it by now? He pressed the bleeding thumb against the handy little gadget Medic had knocked up for him. He winced again.

Today, he would kill that Medic. His best friend.

_Huh. 8.5. Bit high today._

He quickly measured and prepared his insulin when there was a knock at the door.

"C'mon in."

He had expected to see Soldier come in to escort him to the correctional facility, but it was actually Anna Pauling and Demo Malcolm.

"Oh...sorry, Tyler. Want us to give you a few minutes?" Anna said.

"Oh hi fellas...no its fine." He quickly took the cap off the syringe and injected it into his arm. "Nearly done here."

"We just came tae...well, give ye some moral support," Malcolm said. Tyler looked up and saw they were both in full formal dress- Malcolm had his full Scottish regalia on (to Tyler's mind, he looked ridiculous in that kilt), while Anna had a tightly tailored purple suit and heels. For once, her tights were not laddered- not that Tyler had spent ages ogling her legs, of course. He was a gentleman, after all.

"Huh," Tyler said. "Well, I sure appreciate that. I think...Erwin will, too, in his own way."

"This whole thing makes me feel sick," Anna stated, her hand going to her neck and fiddling with her collar. "It's...all wrong. All of it."

"That it is," Tyler agreed, standing up and dusting himself off. He looked down at his own outfit. It was his usual denim jeans and a t-shirt. He had never really got the hang of dressing up for formal occasions. "I'm thinking I maybe should dress up a bit too."

"Nae, I'm sure ye'll be..."

"Switch those jeans for some dress trousers, and add a shirt and tie," Anna interrupted, standing back with her arms crossed measuringly. "That should do the trick."

"Ok, ok, give me a moment." Tyler shooed them out of the room and quickly changed into his least oil-stained shirt and trousers. After a moment, he joined them again. "How's this?"

"Better," Anna said, with a solemn nod.

"I don't think etiquette guides have a page on 'What to wear when shooting your best friend.'"Tyler gave a quick bitter smile. "This is the best I can do."

"You don't have to do this, Tyler," Anna said seriously. "I don't think it was fair of Erwin to ask you."

"I _do_ have to do it," Tyler insisted. "I don't want to, hell, you know that, but I can't refuse a man's last request." He swallowed, and Malcolm handed him a hip flask.

"Steady your nerves, laddie."

"Isn't it a bit early for..." Anna started to say.

Tyler snatched up the flask and took a sip with a grimace. "I wouldn't normally, but I want to have steady hands. I guess I better grab my gun."

* * *

By the time Lawrence reached the boathouse he was already shivering, even with his wetsuit on. Wetsuits kept you warm under the water by trapping a layer of liquid inside them, but they were useless against this constant deluge of wind and rain. Sniper put his neoprene hood on for a little extra protection as he stepped into the dingy building.

The wood creaked and groaned as the waves beat against the walls, but his boat was only half-sunk, thankfully. He quickly bailed it out and then cautiously started the motor. Thankfully, it roared to life, so he hopped out again and opened the boat doors.

As soon as he unlatched the doors, the handle was pulled out of his hand and the door flung itself back, ripping one of its hinges out of the wood. A wave of water surged into the house, slopping over and into the boat.

_I'm insane, aren't I? Bloody insane._

He smiled slightly and hopped into the boat, bailing it out again and then zooming out onto the open sea with a roar.

It was a good boat, his rigid inflatable, tough and powerful. Even so, it was not made for storm weather, and its light frame meant that it launched itself off the tops of the waves and then slammed down into the troughs. Lawrence wasn't a light man, but he found himself gripping onto the steering wheel not to fall out as the boat fell ten feet or so through the clear air every few seconds. More water slopped on board as he turned the boat round to point into the waves. He could feel the hull vibrating and creaking beneath him with the strain of hitting the huge waves.

"Jacques!"

The sky was just starting to turn a deep, grainy grey. Somewhere above those thick black clouds, the sun was starting to rise.

A wave of salty water hit him in the face, as hard as wet concrete, and he clung to the steering wheel in order not to get washed away.

"Jacques!" He called. "Oi, fishface! Get your arse over here!"

"JACQUES!"

The world had gone insane.

That was the only way Jacques could describe it. The currents had no idea which way they wanted to go, and the water was full of grit, sharp stones and chunks of dead coral. The tidal forces had ripped him out of his hole in the reef and out into the water.

Even with his improved night vision, the water was so clouded that all he could see was a murky greyness. He tried to grab hold of the reef to steady himself, but a surge ripped him free and sent him tumbling out into the midwater, head over tentacles.

He saw a brief sparkle on the bottom and half-scrabbled, half-swam for it, only to realise he had got completely disorientated, and it was the surface. He poked his head up for a second and was met with a blast of humid air and stinging rain. He looked around, but he could see no lights coming from the looming hulk of the Institute. In fact, he could not even _see_ the Institute. Where _was_ he?

A wave crashed down on him and pressed him down to the seabed, dragging his side along the sharp edges of broken coral. Blood whisped away into the water from numerous gashes as he slammed into a flat bank of sand. His clawed fingers dug into the soft surface for purchase, but he was quickly ripped away again- just a plaything to the currents.

His bleeding arms and bruised tentacles thrashed around aimlessly, trying to catch hold of something-anything, when he realised he could hear another noise over the roaring of the angry waves. A deep, rhythmic sound. An engine.

As Jacques was tossed head over heels by the storm, he realised what that noise was: a motor boat.

Only one person was insane enough to bring a boat out into this filth.

_Bushman, you utter imbecile!_

The sensible part of his mind told him it was none of his business: Sniper had respawn. He was in no danger, so there was no need to worry...

_Unless there is a power cut. Or the storm limits respawn range. Or he gets washed far out to sea before he drowns..._

_Merde._

Jacques started to struggle against the random currents towards the sound of the motor, grabbing any random edge with his tentacles to push himself along. His hold was ripped free repeatedly, but he determinedly found new tentacle-holds and, pushed in all three dimensions, made his way slowly towards the sound of the boat.

* * *

Erwin combed his hair carefully and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Dear God, he had aged in the last few weeks. He tipped his head on one side. Yes, there was more grey. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes were deepset. He allowed himself a bitter chuckle.

_And I've always said all clones are the same..._

"Time to go, Cupcake. Hands behind you so I can put these on."

Erwin looked up at Soldier. He was holding out a pair of handcuffs. He sighed and complied grudgingly. As the restraints clicked shut around his wrists, he was tempted for a moment to headbutt Soldier and simply run away, as far as he could, as fast as he could. Very few people could outrun him on foot.

Except Scout. _All_ the Scouts. And the Medics as well, thinking about it. Not to mention Scoutbot, who was the fastest of all.

Soldier shoved him roughly and he turned and glared at the American, his lips lifting briefly in a sneer.

"Vhere are ve going?"

"The exercise yard. All this rain will wash away the blood and brains," Soldier stated matter-of-factly.

"Zhat's a nice zhought," Erwin said sourly. "I vouldn't vant to make a mess."

"Move."

Erwin stepped into the corridor, aware as he did so that there was another sound against the howling of the wind: voices. Talking, shouting, murmuring. He closed his eyes tiredly. So, he would have an audience to this, the ultimate humiliation.

_No, not ultimate._ A small voice whispered in his head, and he shuddered. There were, indeed, worse things than a clean death. His fingers, with their tiny half-moon nails, clenched into fists.

Soldier opened the door to the yard and it banged back in the wind, letting a splatter of rain hit them. Erwin looked out as the noise died down and all the faces turned to look at him silently. Even with the appalling weather, it looked like most of the Institute had come to watch. He snorted and drew his head and shoulders back, head held high as a pathway opened towards the opposite wall.

He took the first step, and then another. There were whispers and the odd cat-call, but when someone called out, he stared them down with an icy glare. As he looked around the crowd, he realised there was one figure very noticeably absent.

Heavy. Not one of his clones were here.

"Vhat zhe hell is going on here?!" A voice suddenly shouted behind him. His head snapped back to see Albrecht, his hair turned into whippy rattails by the rain, bearing down on the crowd like a ragged avenging angel.

"The execution of this scumbag of a murderer," Soldier stated, giving Erwin's shoulder another shove.

"Zhis is not supposed to be a _public_ execution, Soldier. Mein Gott!" There was some grumpy muttering from the crowd. "You zhink I vould allow you to gawp at zhis like it was some form of puerile entertainment?! You all sicken me."

"We got the right to be here if we want!" A Scout called. "We'll see justice is done and all that shit!"

"You have _no_ right to be here," Albrecht snarled, reaching into the crowd and grabbing the Scout by the scruff of his neck. "All of you, out. NOW!"

There was more bad tempered muttering. Albrecht shoved the Scout back and slowly turned in place, addressing different parts of the crowd at a time. "Miss Pauling has said zhis is to be a private execution. Zhe only people to be present are her, Engineer Tyler, Soldier for security, and myself to confirm zhe death, and as far as I'm concerned, zhat's still one person too many. NOW GET OUT!"

"Well said, Medic," Katie Pauling's voice cut through the crowd. "You heard him. All of you, go."

There was a sudden scrabbling as the crowd quickly left, leaving the four of them standing alone in the pouring rain. Erwin let out a sudden, shaky sigh.

"I'm sorry about that, Erwin," Katie Pauling said. "That was...tasteless."

"Hey y'all," Engineer Tyler came through the door to the yard and was instantly as soaked as everyone else, while Anna Pauling and Demo Malcolm followed behind him.

"Anna, Malcolm, you'll have to leave, I'm afraid."

"Let zhem stay," Erwin said suddenly. Katie looked at him in surprise. He shrugged. "Moral support. For Tyler."

A blast of gale-force air hit the group and made them stagger sideways. Tyler made a little pained noise in his throat. "Let's get this done."

* * *

"Jacques!" Sniper called as another wave of dark water almost knocked him out of the boat. "Fishface! Get your arse over here!"

The water was up to his calves now, but he couldn't stop to bail out, because as soon as the motor stopped, he would capsize. The waves were so high it was sometimes difficult to tell where the horizon was, and his sense of up and down were getting very confused. He wasn't sure if the rising nausea in his gut was worry or seasickness. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

It was getting brighter now, but the sky was still a steely blue, and the rain lashed down from thick clouds, making an odd pattering sound against his wetsuit. Distantly, he thought he heard a cry off to his right, and his head snapped around.

"Showpony! Over here!"

Yes, there was a darkness on the sea. He could not turn the boat against the waves without getting completely overwhelmed, so he circled cautiously around the distant black spot. There was another cry, and this time it was definitely a voice, and it definitely sounded angry.

A shrill gust of wind knocked him and the boat sideways, closer to the floating man. More water slopped on board and the boat wallowed through the waves, struggling to stay afloat. The motor bubbled and gargled as it struggled against the tides.

Jacques' voice called against the howls of the wind, broken into fragments. Lawrence grinned to himself. He had caught the words 'Imbecile' and 'Doing' in that lot.

"I've come to rescue you, hang on." He quickly grabbed a rope with one hand while he hung on grimly with the other hand to the steering wheel.

"Resscue _me_?!" Jacques shouted back. "You're the one who needss..." A wave swallowed the rest of his words.

"Just grab the bloody rope, damn you," he called back, quickly throwing the rope towards the bobbing head. A writhing nest of tentacles surged up and grabbed it.

Sniper hauled on the rope, while Jacques struggled towards the boat. As he got closer, Lawrence saw he was covered in bleeding cuts and bruises.

"Yer hurt," he said, hauling on the rope with both hands. "We've got to get back to the Institute, where it's safe."

"I _wass_ ssafe," Jacques stated. " _You_ are the one in danger."

"No I'm bloody not! I have respawn. _You're_ the one who could get hurt!"

"You are a damned fool to risk your life like thisss," Jacques spat back. "Do you think resspawn would be reliable, thiss far from the Inssitute, in a sstorm?!"

"I'm the fool, am I? You're a bloody..." A huge wave slammed into the boat and knocked Sniper off his feet and into the water. There were a few seconds of confused, clammy greyness before he surfaced, panting for air- just in time to see his boat turn on its side and get swallowed by the sea as the motor stopped with a final splutter. "Ok, I _am_ a bloody fool."

Tentacles wrapped solidly around him and lifted him up, almost terrifying in their alien strength.

"Yess," a voice said in his ear, breathy but triumphant, "And now it is _my_ turn to be the hero."

* * *

Soldier half-guided, half-shoved Erwin against the wall, and the doctor realised that now, at this last minute, that his hands were shaking and he felt light-headed. It was fear. He was afraid. He truly was. He stamped down on it. He would not _, he would not,_ give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

Nobody would _ever_ see him break.

"Medic Erwin, you have been found guilty of the first degree murder of Spy Jacques, and are sentenced to death. Do you have any last words?" Miss Pauling's voice was flat and lacking emotion.

"Yes," He said, looking at them each in turn. "Albrecht: Look after Kepler. Tyler, I'm sorry I made you do zhis. Please forgive me. Everyvone else: I despise you all."

"In your own time, Tyler."

Tyler blinked and gave a brief nod, holding his pistol up to Erwin's forehead. His eyes locked with the disgraced Medic's. For a second, Engineer's mouth opened as if he was going to say something, and then he closed it again. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

"Ready," Soldier barked.

"Aim..."

* * *

Lawrence tried to swim, but the tentacles were wrapped too tightly around him as he was slowly but surely hauled back towards the grey murky shape of the Institute. Day was definitely breaking, and now there were several yellow lights glowing from the windows of the tall building, fuzzy and ephemeral in the storm. Occasionally, waves would break over his face and he would splutter until he was held higher again.

"I _can_ swim, you know," He protested. "I've got a lifejacket and everything!"

"Yess. It makess it eassier for me to tow you," Jacques replied, his head surfacing briefly. "But you can drown, and I can't. Ssso this iss the sssensible way to do thiss. Now sstop sstruggling or I will cover you in ink!"

"Where does that ink come from, anyway?"

"Never you mind," Jacques snapped.

"Can't be worse than Jarate... can it?"

"Ssshut up." The tentacles squeezed tighter around him for a second.

"Fuck, ow, ok, ok! Let go, bugger it!"

"Nearly there. I can touch the bottom."

"I owe you some cigarettes."

"With a lighter thiss time, ss'il te plait."

"Yeah, yeah."

There was a sudden huge wave that broke over them, covering them in clanging blueness for a few seconds. Lawrence's arms flailed wildly against the tide until they punched into pebbles, bruising his knuckles and making them bleed. The wave receded, leaving them both panting on the beach.

"There," Jacques said, and turned back to the water. "Now you are ssafe."

"Wait- you're not going back out into that muck are you?!" Lawrence asked, quickly grabbing a flailing tentacle and wrapping it around his arm.

"Yess, I... mon Dieu, let me go!"

"No bloody way. You're covered in blood- your own, for once- and you're not going anywhere." He hauled on the tentacle, and dragged Jacques a few paces across the beach. On land, he was far stronger than the squidman. "I can drag you or carry you, but you're coming with _me_."

"Non! I do _not_ want to be ssseen like thisss!"

"Bloody tough," Lawrence snapped, dragging the grumbling man behind him.

"Curssse you, Bushman! Filss de pute! Let go, damn you!"

"Nope. Not letting you go back out there. You got no choice, mate. You're coming in."

The pair of them stumbled, slipped and argued their way up the pebbly beach to the Institute's main entrance. Together, soaked, bruised and exhausted, they staggered into the Institute's lobby.

"No, Dell, I tell you, that's... that's... not..."

The conversation between Sarah Pauling and Engineer petered to a halt. The slight woman dropped her clipboard in shock. She made a small 'guh' sound, before opening her mouth soundlessly.

Engineer spun around, his jaw dropping open in shock. "Good God, Sniper! What the _Hell_ is that?"

Lawrence saw Jacques pause and take a deep breath before changing his colours to an approximation of a Spy's suit and mask and drawing himself up as far as he could. He stared at Engineer and Miss Pauling imperiously. " _This_ is Ssspy Jacques. Perhapss you remember me?"

"Spy...Jacques...but..." Dell stopped and paused. "Well, I'll be damned."

"I guess...you're alive then?" Sarah said, reaching for her clipboard. She looked away briefly and cleared her throat. "Um, I mean, obviously you're alive..."

"Hey Connor?" Engineer said, looking into midair as he used his internal circuits to contact one of his doubles. "Dell here. You still got that big 'ol water tank from the flow experiments? We're gonna need it, pronto, plus the biggest pump you got. Ok, not _that_ big. Yeah, that one will do. You won't _believe_ who just turned up..."

"Oh...oh...this is bad," Miss Pauling said. "You're...you're really Jacques?!"

"Oui," Jacques said, crossing his arms and glaring at her. "And why is this 'bad', exactly? Are you not happy to ssee me?"

"Yes, yes of course," She said, clearing her throat and picking up her clipboard. "We found Erwin guilty of your murder. But, but obviously, he didn't kill you after all. Damn, Katie'll be furious..."

"Why?" Lawrence asked.

"Because Erwin is dead. He was executed, just five minutes ago."

**In Chapter Thirty-Four: The Institute has to cope with the aftermath of its bad decision, and gets three unexpected visitors...**


	35. Revolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're getting near the end now, as you may have gathered. I thought this was going to be a short story when it was in my head. It seems my brain was lying to me.
> 
> I often get people asking me how I complete stories like this. They say they tend to peter out before they're done. The best advice I can give, to anyone who is interested, is, first of all, to write out a plot plan before you start, and secondly, find some nice dramatic music to listen to while you write. I find it really stirs my imagination. Considering what I come up with, this might not necessarily be a good thing.
> 
> I ended last chapter on a cliffhanger, so let's not break the tradition, hmm?

 

_"He only earns his freedom and his life, who takes them every day by storm." -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

Tropical Storm Dawn moved off north by the end of the day, and like all storms, it left chaos in its wake. Lawrence's boathouse was utterly destroyed, and pieces of it littered the pebble beach around the Institute. Scoutbot took to the damp skies, searching for any signs of Sniper's boat, but he never found it.

However, unlike most storms, this one also left shame behind.

Katie Pauling sat down and took a deep gulp of her strong coffee. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Nope," Engineer Dell said flatly. "I've checked and double-checked. His respawn was switched off, just as planned. There's no data to bring him back, and a medigun can't cure a bullet to the brain-pan. And before you ask- that insta-revive gadget we used in the robot wars only works for a few seconds after death."

"So, I've got to go out there and tell everyone I ordered the death of an innocent man," She said with a sigh.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Dell stated. Katie looked round and glared at him, but he just shrugged back. "You know it's the truth."

"That's all behind us now," Miss Pauling said with a sigh. "Or so I thought. If Erwin were here, I'd still give him a good kicking for making things so difficult!"

"The man was sure as hell guilty of _something_ ," Dell pointed out. "I'm just not sure what. Have you seen Jacques yet?"

"Yes," Katie said with a shudder. "He's...he's..."

"Incredible?"

"Creepy!"

"That too. He's still a man though, and he deserves your respect," Dell pointed out sternly. "He also likely saved Sniper Lawrence's life."

"I know, I know. It still all makes no sense, though," Katie complained. "Why did Erwin confess? Surely he knew Jacques was still alive?"

"Maybe he didn't. Maybe he just didn't want to be imprisoned for ten years. A fella's got to be free, you know. Or maybe he was just plain telling the truth- that he _had_ wanted Jacques dead. He just failed to kill him. I guess we'll never know for sure."

"I should have waited," She said to herself. "I was so _sure_ it was the right thing to do..."

"You've said it before yourself: all you can do is what seems to be right at the time," He reached over and squeezed her arm supportively. She glared at his hand and he removed it slowly. "How's Tyler coping?"

She sighed sadly. "Badly, I expect."

* * *

A robotic hand placed a few sprigs of lavender on the freshly dug earth of a shallow grave. The wind instantly picked them up and carried them away into the sea. Tyler sighed and stood up.

"I'll make damned sure they don't never forget about you, my old friend."

He plodded away from the grave and looked up at the Institute. Before, it had looked modern and shone with hope for a new future. Now, it was a foreboding monolith, where friends had to kill their friends and justice was miscarried. With a snort, he turned around and went to care for his bees.

At least they could be trusted, stings and all.

* * *

Jacques prowled back and forth in his shallow tank, muttering under his breath and staring at the people who came to gawp at him. Mostly, he just glared at them, but he did half-throttle Medic Albrecht when he had strolled in with a trolley of metal implements and a large syringe, and Bobby and Rick's clothes were now ruined with octopus ink...

He was exhausted and bruised, but no Spy could sleep where others could see him- and this wretched tank had glass sides. He had no privacy whatsoever in here! He was not an aquarium exhibit, damn it!

Eventually, he sunk down to the bottom, curled his tentacles around himself for comfort, and dropped into a twitchy light sleep for the rest of the morning.

At about midday, Anna Pauling came to see him, so he uncurled and came up to the water's surface, his clawed hands grabbing the side of the tank. She stared at him for a moment, her throat moving as she swallowed, before hesitantly coming closer. She climbed onto the rickety staging that had been thoughtfully put alongside his tank.

"Mademoiselle," He said, "We..."

"Oh God," She suddenly grabbed him in a rib-creakingly tight hug. "You're alive. Thank God. It's so good to see you."

"Ah..." Jacques sputtered, losing any semblance of dignity for a moment. "It iss...unexpected, I will admit."

"You must have...I can't imagine what you've gone through." She let him go, and he noticed with an embarrassed grimace that her arms were now coated with slime. She did not seem to care, however. "I mean...are you ok?"

"As well as can be expected," He said, blinking. "I must admit I don't quite feel like my old sself."

"I...just...don't know what to say," She admitted. "Just let me know if there's anything I- or any of us in the WPD- can do for you. I know you have to live in the sea for now, but you don't have to be alone."

"He never was alone," Sniper Lawrence said, strolling into the room and throwing himself into a cheap plastic chair. "I just came to say...thanks, mate. You saved my life."

"And filthy busshman, you ssaved mine," Jacques admitted. "We are even."

"Medic gave me the once-over, and I'm fine, he says," Lawrence told him. "Bit of hypothermia, some seawater in my lungs, plenty of cuts and bruises, nothing a day's rest won't solve. He says he'd like to give you a check-up..."

"You can tell him he can give me a check-up when hell freezes over," Jacques said shortly. "I never want to go near another Medic in my life."

"What if you could be turned back? Easily and painlessly, say? Not even then?" Sniper asked.

Jacques paused before answering. "No, I think not." He slapped the water idly with a tentacle. He cleared his throat and blinked, surprised by his own thoughts. "I...did want to be unique..."

"You want to stay like that? Seriously?" Anna asked.

"The reef is beautiful," Jacques said, his voice oddly wistful and sad. He looked around the large room- at the ceiling tiles, the cracked linoleum and the cheap plastic chairs. Then, he looked out of the window, to the sea that spread to the horizon. Finally, he looked at Lawrence, who smiled warmly at him. "I...belong there."

"You do," Lawrence said softly, nodding in agreement. "You really do. Once the seas have calmed, we'll get you back. And I better buy a new bloody boat."

"Oh yes, I have a message from Katie for you, Lawrence: She says that next time you save someone's life, don't wreck tens of thousands of dollars of equipment doing it, please."

"Huh, got it," Lawrence said with a grunt. He grinned suddenly. "Any chance I can have a bigger boat this time? One that'd stand up a tropical storm?"

"Don't bet on it," Anna said warningly. She stood up and unconsciously wiped the slime off her arms. "Well, I better get on. I just wanted to pop by and say hi. Remember what I said, Jacques: anything you need, ok?"

"I will bear that in mind, merci."

Anna left with a brisk nod.

Lawrence chuckled slightly to himself.

"What iss sso amusing?"

"You," Lawrence replied easily, ignoring Jacques' glare. "You get to be the big damn hero, and suddenly being a squid-man is absolutely fine. You're the vainest man I've ever met, you know that? What kind of Spy loves being the centre of attention?"

"A terrible one," Jacques admitted with a resigned sigh.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," Lawrence said with a grin. One of Jacques' tentacles slithered out of the tank and curled around Sniper's arm. Lawrence stroked it with a fond smile. "By tomorrow, we should be able to go home."

"Home?"

"Uh, I mean the reef, of course," Sniper stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down.

"Yes," Jacques said firmly, squeezing his arm slightly. "Home."

* * *

As the tropical storm moved north, it turned into Hurricane Dawn, and went on to wreak havoc in Florida. However, it was no longer the Institute's problem at that point, although Engineer Dell looked out at the ragged clouds and wondered if he could make a weather machine, one day.

Demo Malcolm looked out onto the wind-swept seascape outside his window. The sun was setting, and little whisps of torn clouds scattered around the red sky. Tomorrow would be a better day. For most of them.

He opened the window and let the silence seep into the room. A cool breeze played with his tightly curled hair for a moment, before he turned back to the sofa and sat down next to its other occupant. Anna leant against his side and closed her eyes as he handed her a warm mug.

"Coffee," He said.

"Mmm," She replied, eyes still closed. She held the mug close and breathed in its vapours before taking a sip. "This coffee is just like you."

"Huh?" Malcolm sat up a bit more and looked at her suspiciously, waiting for her to say that old, tired joke.

"Hot, sweet, and with a dash of liquor," She explained with a small smile.

"For a second there I thought you were gonna...ah, to hell wi' it." He settled back down again and draped an arm around her neck. She settled into it with a sigh. He took a sip of his drink, enjoying the way the aromatic flavour poured through his mouth and nose.

"Mal, did we do the right thing?" Anna said, taking another sip of coffee.

"With Erwin?" Malcolm asked. "Damned if I know. I'm no' sure there even was a right thing to do."

"I don't think he meant to kill Jacques. Not ever," Anna said. "He just said that because he didn't want to be locked up for ten years."

"What he _did_ do to Jacques though...bloody hell. It's a pure nightmare."

She shook her head. "Glad it wasn't me."

"Jacques asked for it. That's the bloody bonkers bit of this. He _asked_ for it. Not the tentacles an' all that swaddlin', but the changing colour and spiky skin. He wanted it."

"And now he doesn't want to change back," Anna added.

"Really?" Malcolm asked in surprise.

"I asked him earlier today. Albrecht had said he could change him back-mostly- with surgery. He said no."

Anna sat up slightly, leaving a cold patch on Malcolm's side. Instinctively, he tried to draw nearer to her, but he could see she had gone into 'business mode'. He sighed in resignation.

"We'll need a new Spy. Gabriel has been sniffing about, so I think he'd be interested. I...guess we'll also need a Medic. Albrecht's the best of the bunch, but he's got Vlad to, uh, look after, so it can't be him. Uwe's got his aging experiments to do and..." Malcolm placed a finger on her lips, and she went adorably cross-eyed looking down at it.

"You cannae switch off, can you? Not ever," Malcolm said softly. "It's been a tough day. You've got to stop sometimes, take a break, take a _rest_ , lassie."

She looked down and sighed. "I...try to. But I don't know how! I was never _taught_ it... I don't..."

His hand moved to her chin and she looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the red sky behind them. At that moment, she looked vulnerable yet strong, confused yet determined, wise and yet naive. She had everything he did not have but she needed him as much as he needed her. Since Peru, they had kept each other grounded in the real world. He knew it, and so did she.

She was his newest addiction.

He moved closer to her, breathing out softly.

"Lassie, I..."

Before he could finish, she pulled him close and their lips connected. She tasted of coffee and lipstick, and a soothing, deep warmth flooded right into his bones, as if she was giving him the breath of life. They separated, and she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his, breathing his name softly. He stroked the glistening strands of her hair while his heart pounded, mouth open in delighted shock. She breathed out softly and then smiled at him.

"Well...that worked."

Before she could say more, he lifted her chin up and kissed her again, as her slender arms slid around the back of his neck to... oh God!... that little sensitive spot right on his spine...

"Anna Pauling, Engineer Tyler, and Demo Malcolm, please report to the lobby immediately," A Spy's voice rang out over the intercomm. They both startled and their noses banged together painfully.

"Ugh, what _now_?!" She said impatiently, leaning back from Malcolm.

"Ach, bloody hell," Malcolm grumbled. "Can ye try to be a little less important sometime?"

She sighed in resignation. "They want you as well."

"Huh, maybe I'm important too."

"You are to me," She replied.

He pulled her close for a second and gave her another lightning-fast kiss. "Let's see what that noisy pillock wants, then we can come back, ok?"

She nodded and they quickly left his room and headed down the lobby. As the lift doors hissed open, her mouth dropped open as she saw Spy Marcus standing by the reception desk, pointing a pistol and looking cautiously at the three men in the doorway- two standing, one in a wheelchair.

One of the standing men was swaying with exhaustion, had a black eye, and his clothes were ripped, filthy and mud-stained. An entire chunk of material was missing from his labcoat, leaving the threads to unravel messily. He turned and glared at her, righteous anger radiating from every single particle of his being. Anna's mouth dropped open in blank astonishment.

"Er...Erwin?"

"Of course," He replied shortly. He gestured at the silent man in the wheelchair. "And zhis man vishes to meet us all."

"Who...is he?" Anna asked, realising as she did so that she already knew the answer.

"His name is Carmine."

**In Chapter Thirty-Five: Why does Carmine have a vendetta against the Institute? And...did they actually deserve it?**


	36. Red, White and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that bluestonewings deserves a reward for being the single, only person who correctly guessed Carmine's identity. Well done! You win the internet, or something. How about an sfm portrait of your favourite character and loadout? I think Terminalnostalgia deserves a consolation prize for her guess, since it really made me laugh: 'the (drug?) connection between Spy and Pyro has me convinced that it's got to be a Spy' Have a friendly, laughing-with dopeslap Term! :D.
> 
> In other news, you remember that I offered a gold botkiller flamethrower to the person who guessed who the traitor in the Institute was? Well, quite a few chapters ago, one person- and one person only- guessed correctly. I'll reveal the winner next and final chapter!
> 
> I don't often get to use the word 'penultimate', so let's not miss the chance. Here's the penultimate chapter...

_"Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't." - Mark Twain_

"Hands up, all three of you," Marcus ordered. "So, all this time, you were the traitor, Erwin. You disgust me."

"I was _never_ a traitor!" Erwin hissed angrily. "Never! Carmine and I have only just met and it seems zhere has been a, hmm, huge misunderstanding." He glanced at the two men with him. The standing man was thin, with black sunglasses and a white stick, and Marcus noticed the Chinese man in the wheelchair was missing his legs from the knee down and wore a clear, plastic oxygen mask. Marcus blinked and opened his mouth, but Malcolm got there first.

"You're _me_ ," he breathed. "Yer a Demo."

"Aye," the man whispered. Marcus noticed he had a long black keloid scar across his throat, thick and knotted.

"Cobalt can't talk well. It hurts him," The man in the wheelchair- Carmine- said, with a lilting accent. He turned to look at his companion, and Marcus saw that the side of Carmine's face was covered in flat, pink burn scars, as if the flesh had melted and reset.

"Pyro," Marcus stated quietly.

Carmine nodded solemnly, his eyes dark and lacking trust.

"Oh for God's sake!" Anna snapped, rubbing her forehead. "Nothing is ever simple, is it? We need to get this sorted out. Erwin, are these two clowns any danger to us right now?"

"No," Erwin said flatly.

"Are _you_ any danger to us right now?"

Erwin's eyes narrowed and his lip briefly lifted in a snarl. "Only if you annoy me."

Anna got her pistol out. "Just do a quick check for weapons, Marcus."

"Bien sûr," Marcus swiftly frisked the three men, earning an annoyed growl from Erwin. He looked up and idly shrugged at the furious doctor. He nodded to Anna.

"Right," She slowly lowered her pistol and holstered it. "Let's make this a temporary truce."

"Yes," Carmine said. "I will agree to that."

"Erwin! What in Sam-Hill..." Tyler burst in behind them. "Who are these fellas? Sparkie? What in God's name happened to you? Where's your suit? You go see Medic right now, y'hear?"

"Right you lot, everyone to conference room 10 before I start taking kneecaps," Anna snapped. "Move!"

The group silently moved, with Erwin occasionally calling directions to the blind Demo.

When they got the conference room, Tyler put on a pot of coffee and they all sat down. The damp air filled with the smell of mud and sweat from Erwin's clothing, and Marcus carefully took a chair as far away from the filthy doctor as possible.

"Ok, let's start with why, precisely, you're alive, Erwin," Anna said.

"Oh, zhat is easy," Erwin said, waving a hand that shook slightly with exhaustion. Tyler patted him on the shoulder and handed him a steaming mug. He nodded his thanks and gave the Engineer a tired smile. "Vhen you first suspected me of being a traitor, I knew execution vas a possibility. So I, eh, did a little swap. You vill find you switched off Albrecht's respawn, not mine. I suggest you switch it back on now."

"But you _didn't_ respawn," Anna said flatly. "I saw the...results. It was very, well, splattery. We _buried_ you!"

"I put a six hour delay on respawn, so ja, you buried me. _Zhen_ I respawned," Erwin continued. He shrugged. "My original, zhe Violet Medic, helped design respawn, remember? I know a lot about how it vorks."

"That's why you confessed," Marcus said in horrified awe. "You did not want to be imprisoned. Getting executed- that was your _escape plan!_ "

Erwin shrugged idly. "Basically, ja."

"Next time, ask someone _else_ to shoot you," Tyler grumbled. "I've had a helluva day, I'll have you know."

"Clever, yet totally bloody horrible. Classic Medic," Malcolm added. "So, now you're saying that confession o'yours was a lie? You didn't try to kill Jacques?"

"Nein, of course not! I had to pretend. It vasn't difficult- it seems everyvone found it _very_ easy to believe me a murderer," Erwin sniffed disapprovingly, and then sighed sadly and looked down. "Jacques...he vas good company. A friend. I, ah, don't have many. Ah, Gott! Zhat experiment vent so badly wrong. Sacrifices must be made to advance science, but...zhat vas not one I vanted to make. Poor Jacques. In future, I shall check zhat zhe patient has a strong immune system so zhat zhe infection does not advance to zhe viraemia stage. I zhink zhat zhe radiation poisoning caused..." Cobalt, sitting in the seat next to him, subtly nudged him. "Vell, never mind zhat."

"My heart bleeds for you," Marcus said sarcastically. Erwin gave him a venomous glare, but Marcus just continued. "You turned him into a monstrosity, and yet you feel more sorry for yourself."

Carmine looked around the room, and he frowned slightly. "Erwin thinks Jacques is dead, but he isn't, is he?"

Malcolm, Anna, Marcus and Tyler looked at each uncertainly. Tyler cleared his throat. "Nope. He survived."

"Vhat?!" Erwin leapt to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. His face lit up with the first genuine smile Marcus had seen on it for quite some time. "Oh, zhank God! Zhis is excellent news! Vhat state is he in? Is he alright? How did he survive zhat fall? I need to see him right now! I promised him I vould reverse any changes he did not vant, and I have had time to zhink of a few more ideas on how to..."

"Hang on a danged second. You just said Jacques had _radiation poisoning_?" Tyler asked. "Since when?!"

"Oh, shut up!" Anna shouted, hitting the table with her fist. "We'll get back to Jacques later. Right now, I want to know...everything else. In particular, I want to know why I'm sitting face to face with a murderous Peruvian drug-baron whose is determined to destroy us. Um, no offence."

Erwin glanced over at Carmine, who shrugged.

"Vell, as it turns out, zhis is all our fault," Erwin stated. "Ve have done Carmine a great and terrible wrong. Vell, not everyone at zhe Institute- just one of us."

"Who?"

"Gerhardt Weiss."

With a sigh, Erwin sat back down and started to explain what had happened to him after the execution.

* * *

Earlier that day, Erwin had realised he had forgotten how unpleasant Respawn actually was.

He appeared in the white-tiled room, gasping and spluttering. He clutched at his head and sank to the floor.

"Gottverdammte. Ich hasse alles... Schieß drauf..."

For a moment, he sat and panted, trying to make his body move, even though his arms and legs seemed to want to stay exactly where they were, thank you very much. His head spun, and the shot, the sound of the bullet hitting his skull, slammed around and around in his mind...

_Move. Move, damn you._

With a groan, he sat up, and then hauled himself upright against the wall. He looked about, and realised that this was _not_ the respawn room had had expected to appear in. He drew a sharp breath and held it, forcing his ears to listen out for the slightest sign of anyone passing. However, it was silent and, wherever he was, there was nobody about. The usual supply locker was there, and he quickly loaded up with a spare syringe gun and a wicked looking little knife that no doubt belonged to Spy. He knew he didn't have much time, so he cautiously staggered to the exit and peered out. He could see abandoned scaffolding out there, and knew he was on one of the new islands they had taken over- 03, if he wasn't much mistaken. He breathed out slowly through his nose. Well, that was perfect- far better than the room off the lobby he had expected to appear in. There was a teep station just to his left, and very few people ever came here. He took a deep breath, and left the room. It was time to leave the Institute for good, and go...where?

He reached the teleports and paused, considering his options. Medic Gerhardt was already out there, so he could not stay in the US. Too many questions. Canada? No...too lawful. There were no openings for a disgraced doctor's questionable business there. So, it had to be South America.

_Oh._ He stared at the teleport. _Peru._ He blinked, trying to get his sluggish and shocked mind to think of another possibility. The problem was that now his curiosity had been piqued. That had always been his weakness. If he didn't go, wouldn't he always wonder what would he could have found out? He squared his shoulders and punched in a code for their base camp, back in Peru. Not that it would still work, of course, surely someone would have disabled it...

With a gentle hum, the teleporter spun up and started to shine with blue light. Well, it seemed that they had been even less competent than he realised. He stepped onto the teleport.

Warm, stinking heat greeted Erwin as he emerged in the jungle and stepped neatly off the pad. For a moment the sounds of birds and insects, the smell of wet earth, and the soughing of the wind in the trees brought back horrible memories that paralysed him. _I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I can't..._ He felt trapped, unable to breathe. He legs crumpled under him, and he dropped to the leafy, damp floor. HIs heart hammered in his chest, and he remembered the room, the chair, the straps, the smell, the... the... the...

He forced himself to take a deep breath. That room was gone. It was gone. It. Was. _Gone._ Demo had blown it up. It was gone. Another deep breath. He forced oxygen into his lungs. _Calm down, you fool. Just a little longer, and then you can go and drink yourself to death._

He reached for a handy dead branch and quickly cut a square out of his white labcoat and clumsily threaded it onto the pole with trembling hands. It was crude, but it was the best white flag he could manage. It might mean he didn't get shot on sight, at least. Maybe. How honourable would Carmine be?

He staggered off through the forest, in the direction he more or less remembered the Plantation was in. It was a lot harder travelling without a Sniper to guide him, and he slipped frequently on the soggy ground or got hit in the face by branches. He hastily slapped away any insects that came near and ended up covered in sticky insect slime as well. By the time he heard the sounds of hammering and drilling, he was shaking with exhaustion.

He smiled grimly and circled closer to the Plantation. Scorched black earth streaked out from a central location, but a fresh skeleton of timber was taking shape. Men called to each other in Spanish as they sawed wood or drilled screws into the structure. A man walked past his position with a beam over his shoulder, idly whistling as Erwin stepped out into the clearing, waving his flag. The man dropped the wood quickly and reached for a knife on his belt.

"¡Quedarse quieto!" He shouted, pointing his knife at the scruffy doctor.

Erwin froze to the spot, and waved his flag pointedly. He rummaged through his prodigious memory, trying to remember if he had ever heard any useful Spanish during his capture here.

"¿Llevarlos a Carmine, bitte?"

"¿Quien?" The man looked puzzled and looked around. "Sólo puedo ver..."

"I vant to see Carmine," he said as slowly. "Carmine." He waved the flag again, and spread his hand in what he hoped was a gesture of peace. The man looked at him suspiciously.

"Why?"

"You speak English?"

"Everyone does. From TV," He replied. "You are enemy. Very evil man, Carmine says."

"Nein, ah, no, I'm not. I don't zhink I am, anyvay, I... ahh, Scheiße. I vant to see Carmine. I am from zhe Institute." The man looked puzzled. "From Pauling."

"Pauling!" The man said in surprise, and then laughed. "Carmine hates. You die! You meet him, you die."

"Can I meet him?"

"You die," The man repeated with a snort, and then gestured him to follow. "Come."

Erwin was taken into a small wooden shed-like building that seemed to have been hastily built from old timber and canvas. The door was just a flap of threadbare material, which his guide pushed out of the way. Inside were a few sticks of half-burnt furniture and a whirring fan that constantly clicked as it rotated.

"You. Why did you come back?"

Erwin blinked in the sticky dimness of the shack, and looked down to the voice that had spoken to him. There, in a wheelchair and wearing a clear oxygen mask, was...Pyro. Erwin blinked, but no...it was still Pyro. His expression was one of utter loathing- he looked like he wanted nothing more than to tread on Erwin like a cockroach.

"...Pyro?" Erwin breathed. "Vell zhat explains...absolutely nozhing."

"Pyro is dead- he died many times. I am Carmine."

"Vhere..." Erwin stammered. "But...I zhink...Vhat..."

There was a low growling noise behind the doctor, and another man stepped into the room, shoving him to one side roughly and then placing a strong hand on his arm, holding it tightly.

"Demo?"

The man's head swung around towards the sound of his voice, and he nodded slowly. Erwin could just make out the sunken sockets of his ruined eyes behind the dark glasses.

"Vhy..." Erwin cleared his throat. He could feel his head starting to spin, and staggered sideways. "Vhy _everyzhing_! Vhat is going on?!"

"You don't know?" Carmine spat, his eyes narrowing with such hatred Erwin was surprised he didn't burst into flames on the spot. "Don't you _remember_?"

"Remember vhat?"

"He doesnae even care," Demo croaked. He spat on the floor in disgust. Carmine leaned forward, placing scarred hands on the dented table in front of him.

"You think dying your hair black would fool me? You think I'd not know the face of the White Medic? The man who _shot_ me?"

"My hair isn't dyed. Some of us have..." Erwin blinked. "Are you sure you didn't...ohh...maybe you don't know how many of..."

"You _shot_ me, White Medic. You shot me and left me to die," Carmine interrupted. "In Sawmill. Four years ago." Carmine snarled. "So I died, and I died, and I died."

"...Sawmill?" Erwin said, puzzled until a memory struck him:

_The Clones' Rebellion had invaded Sawmill in the middle of the night. Their plan: get to the hidden teleporter to TF industries, and storm the headquarters of the Administrator. It would fail horribly, but at the time, they hadn't known that._

_The RED Pyro had just appeared, apparently taking a night-time walk. They knew that they had non-custom bullets, but before they could debate condemning the Pyro, Medic had grabbed Spy's pistol and shot the man three times._

_Medic knew what would happen: Respawn would not remove the bullets, and the Pyro would awake in respawn and die again from the bullet wounds. Again, and again, and again, until the mind and body was shredded into pieces by the constant death and rebirth, constant agony._

_Gerhardt Weiss had done what had had to be done. After all, sacrifices had to be made in wartime..._

"Oh, Gott..." Erwin breathed out. "You survived. After everyzhing, you survived. How did..."

"I died many times," Carmine said, his nails digging into the table and scoring it. "A hundred times, that night, with nobody to know. Each time, the same pain. In the morning, our Medic found me. For weeks, I died many times each day, agony each time, until he got the last bullet out. Every time I died, _I saw your face_."

Erwin swallowed, his throat suddenly tight and constricted. Strictly speaking, it hadn't been him who had shot this Pyro. It had been the man he had been cloned from, whose memories he carried. But in his mind, it was _his_ hands holding the gun, taking a rough aim, and firing. At the time, it had been essential, but now he looked into the tortured eyes of the man in front of him and could not look away.

Was he guilty? As a clone, was any of this his fault? How could he tell? How could anyone tell? Where did Gerhardt's choices end, and his begin?

He felt an odd, deep sickness, as if his soul had been coated with a thin layer of slime. _Guilt_. He closed his eyes slowly. _Perhaps I did deserve to die, after all._

"Revenge. It vas revenge," He said hoarsely. "Zhat is vhy you had me tortured. You did not vant information. You just vanted me to suffer."

"You deserved it. You did," Carmine said with a snarl. "And I would do it again."

"Vhy did you attack zhe Institute, zhough? All the ozhers- vhat did zhey do?" Erwin demanded, clearing his throat and standing more upright.

"You killed so many, and you want to know why I want you all gone?" Carmine sneered.

"So many?" Erwin asked, frowning in puzzlement.

"Your 'Institute'," Carmine spat. He looked up at the blind Demo. "Two years ago, before the robots came. The saws jumped from their tracks and cut us all. Everyone else died-except me. I was hurt, but I could walk, so I walked. Then the cuts from the saws, they festered, and..."

"You burnt your own legs off to save your life," Erwin said softly. Carmine nodded.

"Cobalt was at Nucleus when it... lit up. His eyes were burnt out, and he hurt his throat. _We were lucky._ We escaped. We found each other, and swapped tales. All the others, died."

"I know," Erwin said solemnly. "I remember it all."

"And _then_ , as we recovered, there it was on the news: you and your nine friends had 'escaped' when everyone else had died. Escaped without a scratch. You got to be _heroes_!" Carmine spat the word. "You killed all of us, your brothers, because you did not need us anymore," Carmine paused briefly, "That is the only way you could have survived when no one else in the Gravel Wars did. You _mass murderers_ survived and got to live in your Institute. We sell cocaine, to survive. I am a bad person, I know this. And yet, you are so, so much worse. _You deserve to die_."

Cobalt made a low growling noise.

"You...think ve ordered your deaths. Everyone's deaths, so ve could get all zhe money and be heroes," Erwin stated. He cleared his throat again, trying to resist the urge to laugh. A mad chuckle escaped his lips, and he slapped a dirty hand over his mouth. It was hopeless- the whole situation was too insane, too ridiculous, and he started to laugh, and laugh, tears streaming from his eyes, snot from his nose, his voice rising and becoming higher and hysterical until Cobalt punched him.

**In the final chapter: Can Carmine and the Institute negotiate? And will Tim's memory live on?**


	37. Breaking Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are: the end. The final chapter. I hope you've enjoyed my nonsense. I've certainly enjoyed writing it. I was just thinking that this story could have been subtitled 'How Jacques got his groove back'.
> 
> I believe I owe someone a gold botkiller flamethrower for guessing who the traitor in the Institute was. The winner is: Lily Li! Not only was she the first person to guess correctly, she was also the only person to do so! Lily, could you send me a PM on fanfic dot net or on tumblr please? I'll send you a steam friend request and transfer the shiny to you.
> 
> I had some really interesting guesses through the story that made me wish I'd written them myself. Ones that stick out in my memory are:
> 
> \- Jacques is the traitor, but has been brainwashed by Carmine and doesn't know it. (This would have been awesome to write!)
> 
> \- Carmine is Redmond Mann
> 
> \- The traitor is another Spy disguised as Spy Marcus.
> 
> \- The traitor was Sniper Tim, but he was double-crossed.
> 
> \- The story will end with an epic battle between Carmine and Jacques
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support. I have no idea what you're all doing here, but I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. Do I have any ideas for future stories? Well...not really. However, I also didn't have any plans for another story after SPS, so who knows?
> 
> Let's say this isn't goodbye, it's merely au revoir...

_"My job... is saving the world." - Katie Pauling._

"I can fully understand your wish to hit Erwin," Marcus said drily. "It is an urge I have felt myself many times, but that was not the most tactful move on your part."

"I didnae like his laughter," Cobalt whispered.

"Cobalt did not mean to hit him so hard," Carmine explained. "He was becoming hysterical, so he hit him to try to calm him down."

"He gave me a black eye," Erwin said with a grumble, carefully poking the bruised flesh.

"So, I presume Erwin explained what really happened?" Anna asked. "About the Clone Rebellion, the robot war, Gray Mann...everything?"

"He did," Carmine said. He tapped the table idly for a moment. "I didn't believe him. He said we should come and see for ourselves. He said he could guarantee our safety."

"And here y'all are," Tyler finished. "Do you believe him now?"

Carmine looked up at the blind Demo."Maybe."

"I told Carmine ve could heal both him and Cobalt if zhey vould accept a truce," Erwin said.

"Oh you did, did you?" Anna said. "What right did you have to..."

"It seemed zhe best solution, so shut up," Erwin snapped. "If I didn't have zhe right, _I don't care_."

Anna opened her mouth and then closed it again, looking annoyed.

"It may be the best solution, but it still leaves us with a problem, ladies and gentlemen: we would be colluding with a cocaine baron. Does this seem like the moral choice to you?" Marcus asked.

"We do not exist," Carmine said quietly. Cobalt nodded in agreement. "What could we do, to live, but be criminals? We're both chemists. Our product is pure, and safer than most."

" _You're_ a chemist?" Anna asked in surprise. "The Administrator never... I mean, I know you make things burn, but..."

"Ach, how could ye not know this, lassie? Surely ye realise I cannae make things go bang wi'out some serious chemistry under me belt." Malcolm said with a snort. Cobalt made a similar noise, and Malcolm grinned at him. "And Pyro knows a whole load about not jus' makin' things go bang, but in a right pretty way, too! He's just no' very good at braggin'."

"Flame spectroscopy was my speciality." Carmine smiled cautiously, but that smile faded into sorrow."Before...before I had to burn it all."

The room fell into a brief, awkward silence.

"I think we are gettin' a bit off track here, fellas," Tyler said. "You said somethin' about radiation sickness earlier...?"

"Your Sniper," Carmine said. He looked down at the table and fidgeted with a pen. "We poisoned him."

"We know," Marcus said in a low voice. "We watched him die in agony."

"He was not supposed to die- not straight away." Carmine looked up, but blinked and looked away again. "A cocktail of poisons, enough to make him very, very sick, and all of them- radioactively labelled."

"Sniper Tim vas not just poisoned- he was _radioactive_ ," Erwin explained. "Zhe idea vas zhat he vould be kept alive vizh my medigun, and brought back to the Institute for emergency care..."

"My God, you turned him into a walking dirty bomb," Tyler said, his voice going hoarse in horror.

"Ve vould be veakened and sick, and not know vhy- vell, not straight avay..."

"I'd've figured it out pretty damn fast," Tyler stated firmly.

"We would have destroyed you by then," Carmine said flatly. "I was waiting for you to be weak. I had men in place- until you blew up my plantation..."

"So, _if_ Malcolm had not blown up the Plantation and Erwin's medigun, Tim would have lasted long enough for him to give us all fatal radiation posioning, rather than the milder dose we had instead," Marcus pointed out, "And _if_ the teleporter had not been hit by lightning, the Institute would now be under siege or perhaps even destroyed, correct?"

Carmine nodded. The room was silent for a moment as people processed the narrow escape they had all had- without even knowing it.

"Gentlemen, we have the worst good luck in the world," Marcus declared, stubbing out his cigarette and instantly lighting another, shaking his head sadly.

"When we got back, I got sick of people telling me I looked like hell," Anna said thoughtfully, "And Albrecht kept wittering on about blood test results and things..."

"Dang. So we _all_ had radiation sickness? No wonder I felt so damned rough there. Come to think of it, who spent the most time around Tim? Jacques. He must've got the highest dose of all. _That's_ why Erwin's experiment went a l'il bit too far. Seems to me this puts Medic completely in the clear, right?"

Erwin nodded firmly, but the others around the table just looked doubtful.

"We'll sort that out later," Anna said, waving a hand in irritation.

"There's summat here that leaves a bad taste in my mouth, an' I dinnae mean this horrible coffee," Malcolm said thoughtfully. "Why did ye no' hurt Jacques when ye had the chance? Why spare him? What was he to you?"

Carmine glanced at Marcus thoughtfully. Marcus cleared his throat.

"I think that we can leave that discussion for another time..."

"I don't think we can. After everything, after all this...was Jacques was your mole, Carmine?" Anna's voice lowered and her eyes narrowed in anger. "Was _he_ the traitor, all along?"

"Bordel," Marcus said in resignation. "No, Jacques was no traitor. There never _was_ a traitor, was there?"

"No," Carmine admitted. "We knew enough about you already. We _are_ you. We needed no mole in your Institute to make you hate each other. We just sewed suspicion and it worked."

"So why d'you spare Jacques?" Tyler insisted.

"Spy...I could not harm him. I couldn't bring myself to. I owe him a great debt," Carmine said, looking at Marcus questioningly.

"Oh, just tell them," Marcus snapped, crossing his arms in irritation. "I already know I'm not going to get out of this room with my secrets intact."

"Before the Gravel Wars, I was in...a bad place. My drugs were good quality, but I sold them to the wrong people. They didn't want to pay, so they were looking for me, to kill me, or worse. Spy..." Carmine paused. "Monsieur Sabatier, as he was then, he found me. He saved me."

"How?" Tyler asked.

Carmine gave a haunting smile. "He arrested me."

* * *

The next day, the seas started to calm and the sky turned blue again. The seagulls came back to wheel overhead and make their solemn calls as the peace talks between Katie Pauling and Carmine got under way.

As it turned out, there was little to discuss.

"We're happy to agree to Medic Erwin's original suggestion, and offer medical care to you and Cobalt as a, well, sort of apology for your ordeals," Miss Pauling explained to Carmine, leaning over the desk to refill his orange juice. "Other than that, the agreement is simple: we don't attack you. You don't attack us. Agreed?"

Cobalt nodded and Carmine looked at him for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

"What of the White Medic?"

"You mean Gerhardt?" Katie got up and walked to the window, looking out over the sea that was once again glittering and blue. "If you want him punished, the answer's no."

"He must be," Carmine insisted. "He is..."

" _You murdered one of my men_ ," Katie interrupted, her voice suddenly dropping into a venomous snarl. "You tortured an innocent man. You tried to plant a dirty bomb right here in the Institute. What I _want_ to do is wipe you and your stinking plantation off the face of the earth. I'm only not doing that because it will cause _me_ more problems in the long run. So don't tell me I owe you _anything_!"

"What he did was..." Carmine started, but was cut off again.

"What he did to you was...horrible. I know that," Katie sighed and looked back."He _should_ be punished for it. But it was also essential, at the time. All I can promise is that I'll make sure he knows what happened to you, and I'll rub his face in it until he feels as guilty as hell. Ok?"

"Can a Medic feel guilt?" Carmine asked bitterly.

Katie looked pointedly at the Pyro. "Can you?" She paused, folding her arms behind her back and gazing back out at the sea. "I have an alternative offer for you to think about- two offers, in fact."

"Yes?"

Katie looked out over the deep blue sea to the horizon. "Sniper Tim told me that the Peruvian Yungas was very unusual. It had...oh, I can't remember, important natural stuff or something. It's all being destroyed to make way for farming and coca plantations." She turned around to face Carmine, who looked back warily and gave him a small, sad smile. "How would you feel about running a nature reserve instead of making drugs?"

"A...nature reserve?" Carmine blinked in surprise.

"Absolutely," Katie replied with an eager nod. "It's more worthwhile than cocaine, isn't it? You have the men to keep it patrolled and safe from poachers and I have the money to pay them and you. I think this would work out well for everyone. You get to do something _good_ for once in your life, and we take down an entire drug ring."

"Aye, we accept," Cobalt whispered. Carmine looked up at his friend in surprise.

_Could this really be happening?_

Could he truly leave the drugs trade behind for good? He knew he was an evil man, a ruthless murderer, an arsonist, bad to the bone, and here he was, being handed a dream. Surely life couldn't be this unfair?

He looked up at Miss Pauling, and for a moment, her head was surrounded by a holy golden light. He blinked, and the vision was gone.

 _Don't they say everyone has one final chance to be redeemed? Perhaps this is mine._ He closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. _I've been spending too much time around Catholics._

"What was your second offer?" Carmine asked suspiciously.

"Ah yes. Back in the old days, when a base was wiped, a cleanup crew would go out to take care of any survivors," Miss Pauling explained earnestly, "But Gray Mann didn't do that. That's why _you_ survived. That means that other clones might be alive, as well as you and Cobalt. They'll be out there, lost, maimed and alone. Find them- and bring them home."

Carmine looked up at Cobalt. He nodded solemnly.

"We agree."

"Good. I have one final small demand to make, though, and it's non-negotiable."

"Aye?" Cobalt rasped guardedly.

"Just a name change for your plantation. 'The Timothy Mundy Nature Reserve'. Has a ring to it, don't you think?" She gave them a cold smile that had little friendliness in it. "So we don't forget him."

Carmine sighed and closed his eyes. _So much for a quick redemption_. Perhaps that how it worked, though. There was no instant forgiveness, no way to quickly wipe the slate clean. Instead, it would take years of hard work, learning how to change, making the world a little brighter every single day. He opened his eyes again and met Miss Pauling's gaze.

"That's a good idea."

Miss Pauling's smile became warmer, and she offered him her hand. He clasped it in his thick, scarred fingers. "Here's to a fresh start."

"Yes," Carmine replied, feeling a little sparkle of hope, deep in his battered soul. "A fresh start."

* * *

"Hey, Spy!"

"What is it _now_ , Scout?"

"There's this rumour going about that you used to be a cop."

"So I believe."

"Is it true? I mean, that's some crazy shit!"

"Of course it isn't true. What a ridiculous idea."

"Yeah I know, right? Like you could be a cop. You'd be so fucking bad at it."

Spy Marcus stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Scout Thomas. "Would I?"

"Oh come on, man! Cops don't stab people in the back. Uphold the law, protect the innocent and, uh, stuff. They don't lie and murder, all that shit."

"Is that so?" The edges of Marcus' mouth twitched. "Obviously, you know more about this than I do. I bow to your superior knowledge." As a final flourish, he gave a small ironic bow and walked off.

"Hey, wait up, wait up! Holy shit, it's true, isn't it? You _were_ a cop." Thomas quickly ran ahead and planted himself squarely in front of the Spy. "C'mon, tell me!"

Marcus stopped again. "Is there any way I can get you to shut up?"

"What kinda cop were you?"

"According to you, the kind that backstabs, murders and lies," Marcus replied with a mocking smile.

"Hey, hey I bet I know!" Thomas said excitedly, hopping from one foot to another. "You were an undercover agent, right? License to kill and stuff. You got into the drug gangs and took them down. That'd be totally awesome. Hey, did they make you shoot your partner to prove your loyalty? That's fucking harsh, man."

"You watch too many films."

"So, how did you meet Ma? You didn't arrest her, did you? 'Cos if you did I'm gonna wreck your fucking face. She's no criminal."

"Is that so?" Marcus snorted down his nose, eyeing the young man with amusement.

"Yeah." Thomas glared up at him, bunching his fists. "So what're you gonna do about it, huh?"

"Relax, Scout, I never arrested Rachel," Marcus replied, waving a hand idly.

"Oh," Thomas relaxed, slightly disappointed. "That's ok then."

Marcus suddenly leaned forward, right next to the Scout's ear and whispered. "She was my paid informant." He stepped back and cloaked.

"What the _fuck_?" Thomas said. "Hey, get back here you son of a bitch! Hey! Spy!"

The only answer he got was a distant chuckle of nasal laughter.

* * *

"Sit down, Erwin," Katie said with a tired sigh. She was, once again, stuck at her desk. She was getting pretty sick of sorting out these messes, and was looking forward to doing something easy again, like running a multi-million dollar business.

Erwin was wearing a pristine labcoat without a single speck of dirt on it. Kepler was cuddled up into his neck, half asleep and content to have his friend back. The Medic sat down slowly and watched her, suspicion radiating from every pore.

"So, let's go through this one thing at a time," Katie said. "You worked while on compulsory leave. You coerced a member of staff into being your lab rat while the balance of his mind was disturbed. You then performed illegal human experimentation on said member of staff. You tampered with respawn. You escaped from prison. You committed perjury under oath."

Erwin listened solemnly and then nodded casually. "Ja, zhat sounds about right. Except I didn't coerce Jacques. He came to me first."

"Ok, ok, I admit that bit's a little more complicated." Katie pulled a folder towards her and flicked it open. "Now, all that, I can deal with. But then you had to go and make things difficult, didn't you?"

"Difficult?" Erwin asked blankly.

"You enabled us to make peace with Carmine. _You saved the Institute_ ," Katie said, glaring at him. "You saved every single damn life in this place! What am I supposed to do with you now?!"

Erwin's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Damn it!" She shouted, thumping the desk. " Are you a hero or a villain, Medic Erwin?"

"Can I be both?" Erwin said with a shrug. He suddenly blinked and hid a yawn.

"Huh." She tapped her fingers on the desk. "I'm taking away your lab key, and you're suspended from duty without pay for the next three months. I want you to stay out of trouble for _at least_ the next six months, and _then_ I'll look at a raise and commendation for saving the Institute. Got it?"

"Understood."

"Good. Now get out of my sight before I lose my temper."

* * *

Erwin left Miss Pauling's office in something of a daze and plodded down the corridor towards the exit. He felt oddly empty and blank. Far too calm. Calmer than he should be. After all the chaos and horror, it seemed as if things were going to be alright.

For everyone _else_ , at least.

Perhaps in a few days, he'd be screaming and furious, but right now, he just felt...hollow. He had burnt every bridge, alienated everyone, and had far more enemies than he was comfortable with. His wandering footsteps took him out of the Institute into late afternoon sunshine. He looked back at the tall building behind him. Did he even fit in here any more?

Possibly not. But where else could he go?

His footsteps took him outside to the sloping beach by the main door. He sat down on the pebbles with a crunch. They dug in, but he ignored it. His fingers curled around a flat stone, and he picked it up and skimmed it. One...two...three...four...

Another stone skipped past, hit his, and then skipped on another five times. He looked back in annoyance to see Tyler grinning at him with two beer bottles in his hands.

"Hey there."

"Tyler." Erwin greeted him with a nod as the Engineer handed over the beer. "I, ah, am surprised to see you here."

"Is that so?" Tyler shrugged.

"I zhought you'd not be talking to me. After I asked you to, vell, kill me," Erwin explained.

Tyler sat down next to him with a slight sigh. "I'm not sayin' I enjoyed it, but... I understood. Wish you'd let me in on your scheme, though."

"I couldn't afford to," Erwin replied quietly. He frowned at his beer for a moment, and passed it back to Tyler. The Engineer silently took his glove off and used his metal hand to remove the cap before handing it back. They both took a gulp and Tyler tossed another stone.

"Eight," He said in satisfaction. Erwin nodded and smiled slightly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and watched the waves wash up the shore.

"I don't reckon the folks here have really figured out what you achieved, yet," Tyler commented.

"Hmm?"

"With Jacques," He continued. "I know it didn't turn out like it was meant to, but what you did...was amazing. Horrible, but amazing."

"Hmph." Erwin wished Tyler would shut up. He really did not feel like having a conversation right now. It was too much effort, and he was so tired...

"I mean it!" Tyler insisted. "You showed us that we don't have to be clones no more, not if we don't want to. We can be _anything_ , and _anyone_ we want. That's one helluva game-changer, right there."

Erwin looked up and blinked."I...suppose. I'd not really zhought about it."

Tyler squeezed Erwin's shoulder companionably. "I reckon that, in the years to come, you'll be the most important Medic 'round here. I tell you, this is the beginning of a new era for mankind. One day, Erwin, your research will change the _world_."

Erwin blinked again, more rapidly. "Vhat into?"

"Who knows?" Tyler gave him an eager and slightly disturbing grin. "It'll sure be fun findin' out."

Erwin snorted and smiled back tentatively. "So it vill."

"Oh, yeah, there was somethin' else I was going to mention," Tyler said, taking another good swig of his beer.

"Ja?"

"Next time you escape death by fiddling with respawn, don't forget to change the coordinates for which respawn room you'll be reassembled in. After I shot you, you'd have come back to life in that li'l room just off the main lobby if... _someone_... hadn't altered things a bit. Would've been danged difficult to escape from there, right? Much better to respawn on a nice distant island right next to a whole bunch o' teleports and a handy weapons cache... _someone..._ left there for you."

Erwin raised an eyebrow. "'Someone'?"

"Someone," Tyler said with a nod and a wicked grin. "You know what they say: Friends help you move. True friends help you move bodies. I helped _you_ move _your_ body."

The corners of Erwin's mouth tweaked upwards, and a desperate chuckle escaped his lips. Tyler snickered, and Erwin started to giggle uncontrollably. Tyler answered with a loud guffaw, which just made Erwin laugh all the more. Perhaps there was more than a little hysteria in there, perhaps a touch of mania, but it was still laughter.

The sound carried out over the waves and up into the clear sky.

* * *

The sun was getting close to the horizon and the air was cooling as Sniper Lawrence and Spy Jacques pulled themselves up onto the sandy little islet they now thought of as 'their' beach.

"Ssso, this is what you do all day? Look at red sslime?" Jacques asked. He flopped down on his back and slapped his tentacles against the sand idly.

"S' red algae. The storm's stirred it all up and given me a good chance to take samples," Lawrence explained. "The reef wouldn't exist without the stuff, you know."

"Is that sso?" Jacques replied. "Why does everything in nature always boil down to sssomething dissgussting?"

"Says the bloke with haddock-breath and slimy tentacles," Lawrence retorted, before flopping down on the beach beside his friend. He sighed and stretched his legs for a moment. "Got somethin' to ask you, mate."

"Yess?" Jacques said cautiously.

"Oh, it's nothing serious. There's just a...coupla people who want to meet you."

" _More_ people come to gawp at the mutated abomination? Oh, let joy be unconfined!"

"Nah, not like that. They're not gawpers. You really should meet them. You'll enjoy it. Trust me."

"You are not going to sstop pesstering me until I do, are you."

"Nah. Trust me on this," Lawrence repeated.

"I do, mon ami." Jacques looked up at his friend. A tentacle crept sideways and curled up around Sniper's arm without Jacques even consciously meaning to do it. Even so, the simple human contact filled him with a soothing warmth. He smiled fondly at Lawrence, and another tentacle explored upwards and patted the Sniper's face tenderly. "I do trusst you. Completely."

Lawrence gave one of his trademark toothy grins, and then took a deep breath, stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle.

"If your friend is a ssseagull, I am leaving right n..."

A roar of jet engines drowned out the rest of his sentence as Scoutbot zoomed in low across the water, leaving a white wake and the stink of kerosene in the air. He banked, turned back and thudded into the beach, and then padded towards Jacques across the white sand. Jacques noticed he had Heavy Vlad in his hands, and the tiny man grinned and waved at them.

"Hi dude." Scoutbot walked over to look at Jacques. "Hey, look at you! I mean, how cool is that?!"

Jacques closed his mouth and gaped a few times, failing the 'suave Spy' thing yet again. "'Cool?'"

"Yeah, seriously! You can breathe underwater and change colour and shit! This is what it's all about, isn't it? Awesome science and stuff! Hey, can you turn green? It's like, my favourite colour."

Jacques heard Lawrence chuckle and glared at him quickly.

"We three, are very different," Vlad said from his position in Scoutbot's metal hands. He folded his arms and rested them on Scoutbot's fingers. "To everyone else, we are so very strange. I tell Scoutbot that this makes us same. We decide we must come and tell you this- that you are not alone."

"Yeah! We're the freaks here, right?" Scoutbot nodded so vigorously his neck squeaked.

"I am not ssure I wissh to be called a 'freak'," Jacques said pointedly.

"I became like this because of accident," Vlad explained. "Scoutbot was made on purpose. You were maybe accident, maybe not. But all of us, we are men of science."

Jacques looked across at Lawrence, who shrugged. "I'm not ssure that is what the term 'men of ssscience' normally meanss."

"You are different. Maybe you think all there is now, is to hide or be pointed at," Vlad said. "I thought same, after accident. I hid like leetle baby coward. Da, I am very ashamed of it. But Scoutbot showed me that hiding is not needed, and I find that maybe, I am different, but friends are same friends. Now, maybe I can show you same thing. You too will find friends are still friends. People are same, even if metal, or tiny, or squid."

"I was made this way, and some fuckers judge me for it- like Soldier," Scoutbot said, sounding as serious as Jacques had ever heard him. "He's nuts. But not everyone does, and you know what? That's a start. Vlad doesn't judge me. Lawrence doesn't, either. All my Scout bros don't. I'm just like them, but metal. And you know what? Anyone who treats you different, fuck 'em, 'cos you got us."

"And me," Lawrence added, crossing his arms in amusement.

Jacques looked across at the miniature man, the robot and the man in the smelly wetsuit. He felt an odd smile stretch across his face.

First, he had wanted to be the best.

Then, he had wanted to be unique.

But perhaps, what he had _needed_ , all along, was to be accepted for who he was- flaws and all.

And now he was.

He felt a new sense of content flood right down to the tips of his tentacles.

He cleared his throat. "Do any of you... men of sscience... enjoy poker?"

"Da! Is very good game. We Russians are good at hiding our emotions, had much practice."

"Dude, seriously, I have the _best_ poker face going!" Scoutbot said, pointing to his metal face with a snicker. "I'm in. Anybody got some cards?"

"Funny you should say that..." Lawrence said, reaching into his waterproof bag and bringing out a set of cards and some poker chips.

"Gentlemen, let us begin," Jacques said, gesturing for Sniper to hand him the cards. His clawed hands flicked the cards over and shuffled them expertly. "Sshall we use bridge order to decide the dealer?"

He smiled warmly at the men sat around him and started to deal out the cards.

* * *

Katie Pauling's heels clicked across the silent floor of the mess hall. It was completely empty this late at night. She just had one last job to do before she went to bed herself.

The pop as she uncapped her pen seemed unusually loud in the still air. She lifted her hand to the list of rules on the wall, and added another line:

_24\. No mutating staff members._

She stood back, examining her neat writing carefully, nodded in satisfaction, and then walked away.

**The End.**


End file.
